


just stay (a little more like this)

by hurricanedelta



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Multi, Relationship(s), Sexual Humor, The Lover AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-06-05 05:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6691696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurricanedelta/pseuds/hurricanedelta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a small, shabby apartment building just outside of Tokyo, four extremely mismatched couples are learning the true meaning of this 'living together' thing. A couple that have been together for what seems to be forever, Akaashi Keiji (24) and Bokuto Koutarou (25). The unlikely yet fitting pair, Kuroo Tetsurou (25) and Tsukishima Kei (23). Newly together but basically married, Hanamaki Takahiro (25) and Matsukawa Issei (25). And finally, childhood friends Iwaizumi Hajime (25) and Oikawa Tooru (25).</p><p>Venture into the daily lives of these vastly different couples, and you will soon realise that it isn't all what it seems, especially when everything, well... everything goes to shit rather quickly, if you ask them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ** YOU DON'T NEED TO WATCH THE LOVER TO UNDERSTAND THIS FIC, HOWEVER I WOULD HIGHLY RECOMMEND IT AS IT IS HILARIOUS AND #QUALITY **
> 
> hello hello hello and welcome to hell. i won't go too much into detail about what's going on until next chapter but!!! i have finally finished the first chapter of this project yesssssss im so happy.
> 
> i hope you all enjoy!!
> 
> songs for this chapter:  
> [My Demons - Starset](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LSvOTw8UH6s)  
> [Mother - Ra.D](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OL3v-WIqgdc) (linked is the cover by jin of bts because i like that version)  
> [Pricked - WINNER](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJqrWRMvXlg)  
> [Baby Baby - WINNER](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qD4VMXxgyik)

> **APARTMENT #709**

Oikawa Tooru lived alone.

Some may find this fact quite surprising just looking at him – he was quite the social butterfly, and seemed to get along with everyone he met. He was popular amongst both men and women, but for entirely different reasons, and no matter who he spoke to, he could win them over with a stunning smile and just genuinely taking an interest in what they were saying.

So, why does Oikawa Tooru live alone? Is this one of the world’s cosmic mysteries, something that only a detective with the talents of Sherlock Holmes would be able to solve (or Mattsun), or is the answer more in your face than that?

Well, Oikawa would dispute, it was quite the simple answer. He simply had not found a person he was willing to live with (or more accurately, a person who was willing to put up with his idiosyncrasies). He understood that living with a person was more than eating together and sharing the burden of monthly rent, it was understanding each other and learning to compromise in extenuating circumstances. The only thing is, Oikawa Tooru tends to understand others far more than they will _ever_ understand him. With a keen eye, extreme intuition and knowledge of how to read people, but a mask that was so thick, so hidden under so many layers of complete and utter _bullshit_ it was near impossible to see the person Oikawa Tooru really was. And to most, that was threatening, and something that they didn't want to hang around with for extended periods of time.

So, Oikawa Tooru remained alone in his apartment, bills unpaid and ancient plans for coaching and practice matches scattered along the ground. His apartment remained a mess, with no necessity of cleaning it meant that things had gotten a _tiny bit_ out of hand. Or a lot. Oh, who was he kidding, he had trouble finding his knee brace on most days, it was _extremely_ out of hand.

Clothes littered the room, both dirty and clean, and Oikawa occasionally tripped over some that he had discarded previously (though, he usually kept all the major walkways mostly clean). The occasional empty milk bread bag sat around on any of the table tops, and to be quite frank, if there wasn’t a surface that had been dusted in the past few months Oikawa would be quite surprised. Oikawa blamed on it on his coaching, the demand of lesson planning and actually coaching, and what his own personal practise and research restricts him to do. But, if you knew Oikawa, and you knew how his twisted, sick mind worked, it was a weird combination of laziness and loneliness.

The fact that there was no one around to bully him into cleaning really had left things out of hand, and the longer Oikawa leaves it, the less motivated he feels do it, especially after seeing the build up that has been happening for the past few months. It wasn’t that Oikawa liked the mess (in fact, it was quite the problem, and if he felt up to it, Oikawa really would like to clean up and start afresh), but the sight of a spotless apartment with no one else in it makes Oikawa’s heart ache irrevocably. Oikawa’s apartment was painstakingly empty, and Oikawa figures that having stuff everywhere would make it seem just that little bit homelier, like there wasn’t a gaping hole in how his daily routine played out every day.

On this fine autumn morning, the light was filtered kindly by Oikawa’s dark curtains, and any sort of outside noise that could attempt to enter the room met with a formidable wall of blankets and pillows. His back lay exposed, while his head and legs completely covered by the draped blankets and discarded pillows. His phone buzzed on his side table, and Oikawa groaned into one of his many pillows, reaching over and forcing it to his face, turning his head so that his voice wasn’t muffled. “Hello?” his voice was groggy, and he barely opened his eyes.

“Ah, Oikawa!” It was the landlord, Nishinoya Yuu. He was far too perky to be calling at this time in the morning. “You wanted a roommate, yeah?”

“Yeah?” It came out more as a question, but there was no way to reverse it, “Did you find someone?”

“There’s a guy here interested in your room, want me to bring him up?” There was a grin in Nishinoya’s voice, as there always was. He was naturally one of the happiest, most upbeat people Oikawa knew, and he seemed to be that way no matter what the situation was. However, this grin was teasing, knowing.

Oikawa understood that Nishinoya probably would bring him up anyway, and he nodded (not that Nishinoya would see that). “Please.”

“Jeez, you sound exhausted. It can wait you know.”

“No!” Oikawa’s voice rose as he woke up ever so slightly more, “It’s fine, bring him up. It’s okay.”

“Still sound exhausted, Oikawa. You up late again?” Nishinoya asked, but then he coughed, “Don’t answer me, I saw your light on past midnight. Crazy bastard.”

“Why were you looking at my light after midnight? It would imply you were up late too, therefore making you a hypocrite”

“I woke up to take a piss, what’s your excuse?”

“What, in the bush?”

“No, in the nice toilets on the ground floor. Ones that don’t reek of beer and broken dreams.”

“Whatever.”

“See you in a few, Oikawa!”

And just like that, Nishinoya hung up on him, and the words drifted in Oikawa’s ears. Finally, he bolted up, and kicked his covers off, panic setting in. _Shit_ , the apartment was a mess! No sane person would stay in here if this is what it would look like all the time!

 _Too late for that now_ , Oikawa mourned, pulling a polo over his head (his favourite, with the tiny little alien stitched into the breast pocket), and bounced up and down to pull his sweatpants on. Oikawa sprinted into the bathroom, and groaned in pain at his horrible bed hair, cursing the curls that usually sat quite nicely with that little bit of effort. He brushed his fingers through his fringe the best he could, but the cow licks at the sides refused to budge, and once Oikawa heard the knock at his door he knew he had no choice but to face his doom.

“Coming!” he yelled out, but on the inside Oikawa felt like he was dying. He tried to fix one last curl, but gave up after it took longer than three seconds, and jogged to the doorway, pretending he _didn’t_ just trip over one of yesterdays socks. Oikawa took a deep breath, and pulled the door open, smiling as sweet as he could, “Good morning.”

“It’s nearly midday, but good morning to you too Oikawa.” Nishinoya grinned, taking in his appearance with a slight smirk. “Staying up late isn’t good for you.”

“Using foul language isn’t good for you either, and yet here we are.” Nishinoya gave his usual, hearty laugh, nodding in agreement.

“You got me there.”

“So…”

“Oikawa, here’s your guy.” Nishinoya pulled the door back further, revealing the man just shorter than Oikawa on the other side. He stood with a suitcase in hand, and a sort of fond smile on his lips. Oikawa’s jaw dropped to the floor, breath leaving his mouth.

“Shittykawa,” he greeted, and Nishinoya perked up at this, grin becoming almost animalistic, and Oikawa could do nothing but stare, dumbfounded, “Good to know your bedheads are as awful as ever.”

Blue jeans, combat boots, and graphic tees – a combination Oikawa had memorised in his earlier years, and somehow grew to love. “I-Iwa-chan!?” A small smile played at the man in question’s lips, looking almost fondly (mainly teasing, but who was he fooling?) at Oikawa’s failed attempt at fixing his hair.

“Holy shit, you’re Iwa-chan,” Nishinoya gasps, and Iwaizumi turns to look down at him in confusion, “Wow, you’ve really outdone yourself on that one, Oikawa.”

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” Iwaizumi corrected quickly, cringing, “Did that penny not drop? Forget all the crap this dumbass has told you about me. All of it. Trust me, it’s for the best.” Nishinoya gave Iwaizumi a rueful look, like he understood exactly what stories in particular Iwaizumi wanted him to forget, and nodded sagely.

“You’re back!?” Oikawa’s voice rose, just as it did when he was excited, and Iwaizumi nodded, a tiny smile on his lips. “Ah, thanks Nishinoya!”

“I’ll leave it to you two, then,” Nishinoya turned to leave, but then he moved back and grabbed Oikawa’s arm, pulling him down so Nishinoya could whisper directly into his ear, “Sort your head out with him or it might not last.” Then Nishinoya released him. “I still expect your overdue rent soon, Oikawa! Later!”

Oikawa winced at that, and Iwaizumi gave him a look of both mild amusement and disappointment. Nishinoya all but skipped away, leaving Oikawa and Iwaizumi alone in the hallway. Iwaizumi tried to look past Oikawa into the apartment, but Oikawa moved over, as if to hide his mess.

“You’re meant to be in Korea until next year!”

“I came back a semester early,” Iwaizumi explained, “I’ve already cleared it through, so I’m back in Japan.”

“You’re back? Forever?”

“So long as I decide to stay, yeah.”

“Why’d you come back early?” Oikawa’s questions were rapid, and Iwaizumi worked his best to answer them just as fast.

“I figured the apartment would have exploded without me.” Iwaizumi tried to joke, but he knew Oikawa wouldn’t buy it for a second, “Shit happened, and now I’m back.”

Oikawa watched Iwaizumi’s eyes grow darker, and he leaned closer, concern washing over his face. “What happened, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi shrugged, and leaned against his suitcase handle casually, brushing the question off, “I just didn’t think I made the right choice going there, so I came back. Korea’s rough. Pretty, though.” He looked uncomfortable, and Oikawa squinted at him, and decided to drop it. Oikawa yawned, and Iwaizumi pushed his suitcase forward, and kicked Oikawa in the shin. “Are we going to stand in the hallway forever, or are we gonna go inside?”

Oikawa made no attempt to move, and just stared at his best friend, “I missed you, Iwa-chan. A lot.”

“Oi,” Iwaizumi punched his shoulder, “Don’t get all teary on me here, okay?”

“But—“

“I missed you too. A lot.” Iwaizumi admitted, albeit shyly, “Now get inside or I’ll kick you in.”

“Already bullying me?!” Oikawa exclaims, and Iwaizumi keeps his word, kicking Oikawa’s backside into the apartment. Iwaizumi followed him in, but almost dropped his suitcase in shock.

“Oikawa.”

“Don’t mother me, Iwa-chan.”

“If you don’t clean up I’m going to post this on your school’s website.” Iwaizumi threatens.

“I’ll be behind on _four months_ of rent then,” Oikawa whines, and Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow.

“How the hell are you that behind? Jesus, what have you been buying? Not another lava lamp, I bloody well hope.” Iwaizumi tried to scope the room, search for the supposed lava lamp in question.

Oikawa shuffled his feet, “You and I both know teachers aren’t paid well… and I’m not exactly a teacher, just a coach.”

Oh. So it was like that. Iwaizumi shifted his weight, and sighed, “If you needed money I would have helped you, Oikawa.”

Iwaizumi knew he wouldn’t take it, even if he was bankrupt. Oikawa was like that. Oikawa shook his head furiously at the offer, waving his hands dismissively, “It’s fine Iwa-chan, really, I have a handle on everything.”

“Three months,” he deadpanned.

Oikawa’s smile was forced, “It’s fine Iwa-chan, I’ll have enough money for the three months really soon, so you don’t need to help me. Just unpack and get settled!” _Bullshit._

Iwaizumi watched Oikawa as he strode away, eyes trailing down from the top of his head to his shoulders, clenched tightly with stress, down to his knee, which seemed to be in worse shape than when he left it. He then surveyed the mess in the apartment and wondered just how Oikawa could have stood it with how much he likes order, and how the disorder reflected his mental state.

As it turns out, Oikawa hadn’t gotten a new lava lamp, but had sold his other two. Iwaizumi could feel his heart drop just that little bit. Rather than looking for the new things, he searched for the old. Anything that could be worth a bit of money. Oikawa was easy to figure out for Iwaizumi, his thick concrete walls seeming like thin panes of glass. Knowing Oikawa for so long, knowing how much bullshit he spews out on a daily basis, if Iwaizumi did not have a conceptual idea of what Oikawa Tooru was thinking at a given time he’d have lost his title of _best friend._ Iwaizumi understood Oikawa just as Oikawa understood Iwaizumi, and the comforting silence; the lack of bullshit between them was something they took for granted. Oikawa didn’t have a handle on the situation, really. It was obvious as hell. He was far too stressed to have the three-month’s rent ready for the landlord (Nishinoya? Same as the previous, then). The lack of Oikawa’s stupid lava lamps hurt, even if the ugly-ass alien pillows remained.

“You’re sure you don’t need some cash? Because I have some leftover if it’s desperate.”

Oikawa stopped, and turned to Iwaizumi with a smile that could never reach his eyes. He shook his head, hand now perched on his hip, “Really, Iwa-chan, I’m fine!”

Iwaizumi sighed, taking in the bomb that had dropped at his feet long before, “Learn to clean your shit, dumbass.”

Oikawa raised his hands in defence, “I know, I know! I was going to, but I’ve been really busy lately so I haven’t had the time to clean.”

“This doesn’t just happen overnight.” Iwaizumi pointed out, “Will my room be the same one as before I left?”

Oikawa nodded cheerfully, “Yep! Second door down!”

Iwaizumi took his leave, ready to dump his suitcase the first second he got in the door. However, when Iwaizumi opened the door to his room he realised his fatal error. He swivelled his suitcase out of the doorway, and shut it behind him, staring at the vacant space in front of him. Right. A bed.

Iwaizumi had sold his before going abroad, and really, _really_ , how did he not think this through? Of course Oikawa wouldn’t have one readily available when Iwaizumi didn’t announce his arrival, and of course there wouldn’t be one that would just _present_ itself magically. Iwaizumi was in a bit of a pickle, if he did say so himself.

“Fucking hell,” Iwaizumi swore under his breath, and pushed his suitcase down, and began unzipping. While the room may be barren, there’s no need for him to keep his things packed away unnecessarily.

His suitcase was almost as bad as the outside of the apartment (“Hypocrite,” he had muttered to himself). Clothes had been thrown in haphazardly, and bags of other essentials were mixed in. Iwaizumi worked to move the bags out first, setting them out in a small pile, before moving onto the clothing bomb. It’s at this moment he wishes he didn’t make such a reckless decision.

Iwaizumi moved shirt after shirt, before moving onto everything else. He looked up at the occasional bang outside of his door, but assumed it was Oikawa being a dumbass, or just dropping something. The time alone meant he was stuck in his own head, left to mull over everything that had happened.

His time in Korea, the state of the apartment, the look on Oikawa’s face when he saw Iwaizumi, zero lava lamps – there was something at work here. Now, Iwaizumi wasn’t one for fate, nor destiny, nor any other whimsical crap that humanity could throw at his fact, but the fact they were drawn together was quite… odd. A pit in Iwaizumi’s stomach grew, and it grew, until there was a heavy mass on his back informing him that Oikawa was here to (terrorise) help. Iwaizumi sighed, and watched as Oikawa’s lips moved with his story. The pit grew larger, but at least a small smile was tugging at his lips too.

Iwaizumi needs to remind himself to buy Oikawa a new lava lamp. After he buys a fucking bed.

Fucking Oikawa.

“ _Take me high and I'll sing // Oh you make everything okay, okay, okay_ ” – My Demons - Starset

 

> **APARTMENT #609**

It had become tradition for Akaashi Keiji to take a sip (or rather, one giant gulp that resembled three glass fulls) of wine on a Sunday morning, simply because, well, fuck it.

Well, not _really_ fuck it. It was more of a casual fuck it – the kind of fuck it you do when you bullshit your mathematics homework and turn it in anyway, or the fuck it when you decide to pull off a crazy hair colour. It was sort of spur of the moment, and as the saying went, _you only live once_ … and shit. To be honest with himself, and everyone around him, Akaashi was more trying to justify his slight addiction to the drink that had become a habit. So, three drinks of red wine every Sunday morning over breakfast (which most of the time drifted into lunch), chewing slowly and chatting with Bokuto who, not so surprisingly, was one of the biggest morning people ever. Akaashi technically _could_ be a morning person if he tried hard enough. However, the crushing fact of the matter is that if Akaashi is woken up before he wakes up naturally, he will be in a shitty mood _until_ he gets his wine.

 _Not too bad for a kindergarten teacher_ , Akaashi jokes in his head, taking another sip with ease. _What a role model, honestly._

“One might think you were going through a rough time, Akaashi.” Bokuto would joke every so often, and Akaashi gave him a scathing look, not changing his expression as he finished his glass. Bokuto always laughed, and never poked too much fun, just teased on occasion. He understands why Akaashi has it, it’s just amusing to see him do the exact same thing every week. One would think that after two years of living together Bokuto would get tired of this routine, this mundane way of living, but he didn’t, he never did. It was comforting, homey even, watching the wine stain the insides of Akaashi’s lips, watching his eyes slowly widen and become more alert, and make the occasional quip at Bokuto. It was painfully mundane, screaming _MARRIED COUPLE!_ , but they weren’t, and that was okay.

“Do you have work today?” Akaashi would sometimes ask him, and what they did that day was usually centred on that. On the occasion Bokuto did have a shift in the afternoon, Akaashi would amuse himself in other ways, but on the days that he didn’t, _well_ , that’s not something the parents would want to hear any day _._ The nature of Akaashi’s job, and Bokuto’s many part time jobs could mean only one thing – scheduling conflicts. The times when they were both home were quite limited, and honestly at this point, the moments they shared together were the most precious, both of their sources of income being quite temperamental with their scheduling demands.

On this one particular morning, Bokuto had returned from a gruelling practice, thighs aching and palms still stinging from the heft of the ball on his hand. He dumped his bag at the doorway as he always did, and dragged his feet until he reached the living room, and all but faceplanted into Akaashi’s lap, who was currently reading a thick, well-loved book. Akaashi moved his book away from his face in surprise at the sudden impact, but smiled sweetly at Bokuto nonetheless.

“Welcome back,” Akaashi grinned, and Bokuto rolled over, and admired Akaashi’s face from his lap. Akaashi thread his fingers through Bokuto’s monochromatic hair, and ran them through it slowly. “You reek of sweat. Go shower, and then come back.”

“Come with me?” Bokuto teased, and Akaashi whacked his book against Bokuto’s face, who then began laughing. “Good book?”

Akaashi had grown quite fond of mysteries lately, and he had been binge-reading so many detective books that every odd occurrence was becoming part of a brilliant scheme by a talented author, “I think I’m about to discover who the murderer is.” His eyes glimmered with excitement as he turned to the next page. Bokuto grinned lopsidedly.

“Tell me all about it when I come back then,” Bokuto sat up, and Akaashi allowed him one kiss before Bokuto ran off into the shower, being sure to give Akaashi the slightest show of his back while doing so. Bokuto heard Akaashi’s soft, fond laugh as he shut the door, and stripped off the rest of his clothes.

Akaashi’s eyes lingered on the door longer than they should, and he was almost tempted to join Bokuto for a split second, even uncrossing his legs, and pressing the bottom of his feet against the cool timber floor. At that moment, there was a knock at the door, and Akaashi sighed at the wasted opportunity. The water had begun running, and Akaashi rested his book face down on the table in front of him, and ran to the front door.

“Yes?” he asked, poking his head around the side. There was no one in his direct line of sight, so he tilted his head down, and was met with gelled hair.

“Ah, Akaashi, hey” It was Nishinoya, naturally. “I just delivered a guy upstairs, so expect there to be a fair bit of noise now.” He winked.

“Delivered--? Oh, new roommate for Oikawa-san, then?”

A new roommate for Oikawa was not that unusual. Since Iwaizumi had left for his studies, Oikawa has been filtering through roommates like wildfire. It was awkward becoming acquainted with half of them, especially when the previous was a somewhat pleasant person. Akaashi guessed Oikawa must be difficult to live with, or that the odd hours that he was awake got to most of them. He felt, bad, really, but still… That sounded worrying. The two of them already had enough noise from next door (granted, Tsukishima and Pain-in-the-ass-Kuroo were nice enough, but _wow._ Awkward, much?), and now it was going to be added to. As if the pain in the ass upstairs wasn’t bad enough, with his off-key renditions of many girl group songs, occasional dancing and jumping so hard the ceiling fans began to shake, and the strangled cries in the middle of the night (these were seemingly more frequent nowadays, was that idiot okay? Akaashi tried not think about it too much. Maybe it was just work stress, or something.).

“Noisy how?” Akaashi’s face remained solid, unmoving. On the inside, however, he could feel dread hanging off of his shoulders. 

“Childhood best friends with a _lot_ of unresolved sexual tension. Plus pre-acceptance B-S that comes with all that. Have fun with that.” Nishinoya sounded pleased at the added drama, but in all honesty, Akaashi thought he could see the hint of caution in his eyes. That in itself was worrying.

Akaashi winced. Iwaizumi was back, then (unless Oikawa had another childhood best friend?). That does not sound like a good mix with his sleep schedule. At least Kuroo and Tsukishima had gotten over all their living-together crap within the first month of moving in together, even if they were occasionally quite loud (by they, he really meant Kuroo). While he did sympathise fully with it, the prospect of hearing it once more was not pretty (was Akaashi going to have to add _even more_ sex noises to his plethora of sounds he wished to forget, high up there with that one recorder solo from junior high).

“Thanks for the warning.”

“No problem.”

Nishinoya concluded with that, and Akaashi retreated back to his book, ignoring the beating drops of water he could hear against the tiles. He read for a while longer, so entranced by the protagonist’s immense discovery, and the climax finally reaching its peak that he did not notice Bokuto return to the room, resting beside him. Bokuto watched him with a soft smile plastered on his face, and Akaashi finally recognised his presence when Bokuto had laughed at a particularly spectacular expression of shock on Akaashi’s face.

“They were siblings!” Akaashi gasped, and Bokuto laughed even harder, Akaashi’s eyes wide like a child making a discovery, “She killed her own brother!”

“That’s one sibling rivalry gone wrong,” Bokuto tried to joke, but Akaashi gave him the most scandalised look.

“But he loved her so much! What the shit!” Akaashi tossed the book away from him, pouting. “Who kills their own brother!? I know my sister wouldn’t kill me.”

“Your sister is a legend though, so it doesn’t count.” Bokuto commented lightly, and Akaashi made a strangled noise, “Plot twist and half by the sound of it.”

Akaashi nodded, “I was expecting the doctor, or the really shady police officer, but she killed him!”

“Don’t doctors have to take like the oath? Like, do no harm and all that. Shady police officer sounds interesting.”

“It’s a murder mystery, Kou, anything can happen.” Akaashi explained, and Bokuto nodded in partial understanding.

“Hey hey hey, you know what would be fun?”

“What?”

“Giving all of your mystery novels to the cop downstairs and see if he can figure it out.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Absolutely not. Don’t even try.”

They bickered like that for a while, but it was later in the afternoon that the norm was shattered. With the next knock at the door, the grimace on Akaashi’s face presented itself in all of its glory, but Akaashi managed to wipe it off his face as he greeted his mother. Bokuto was in the other room, scrolling through his laptop without a care in the world. Sometimes he stopped, giggled at whatever he was looking at, before continuing on. Akaashi pushed Bokuto out of his mind as he set the containers she gave him on the bench.

“What brings you by today, Mother? You didn’t ring.”

Akaashi’s mother was significantly shorter than he was, with hair cut to her chin and keen eyes observing every move. She tapped her varnished nails against the marble and smiled sweetly at her son. She had the worst habit of dropping in whenever she wanted, and while Akaashi didn’t really have the heart to hell her otherwise, but the pile of laundry sitting in plain sight seemed like a preferable option.

“Do I have to ring whenever I want to see my gorgeous son and his fian—“

“ _Boyfriend_ ,” Akaashi emphasised, and his mother shook her head.

“Sweetheart, it’s only a matter of time before you two tie the knot, it’s been what, three years?”

“Four.”

“See! Four years!” she exclaimed, swatting him on the arm, “You know, your father and I—“

“—Got together October of 1968, and were married February 1969, I’ve heard this story before.” _One thousand and one times_ , Akaashi wanted to add, but he kept that comment at the back of his throat.

“That’s four months, not four years!” she exclaimed, “I seriously can’t understand how you can love him so much and not marry him.”

Akaashi swallowed hard and fast, and stared down at the bench, not daring to look her in the eye. “I don’t believe marriage is the most important thing in a relationship. It’s the essence, not the title.”

His mother tsk’d, ever the romantic, and Akaashi could feel his shoulders tense under her gaze. She was always like this, insisting on him being married as soon as possible. At this point, she had grown tired of this argument, but still gave him _the look_ , and her heels clicked on the tiles as she moved to greet Bokuto. Bokuto was more than happy to greet her ecstatically, both hugging each other so that the other could hardly breathe. Akaashi watched on, fingers clutching the edge of the bench for support.

“Ah, Koutarou-kun, I’m so glad you’re taking care of my stubborn son.” She cooed, and Akaashi sighed, while Bokuto laughed.

“Of course!” he exclaimed proudly, “It’s my pleasure, really.” She laughed good naturedly, and the two indulged each other in pleasantries as Akaashi watched from his place in the kitchen. His plain, loose tee suddenly felt suffocating.

She opened her handbag and put her hand inside, pulling out a few more small, plastic containers. Bokuto was practically drooling at the sight, and Akaashi had to take them off of her for good measure. “Thank you for the food.”

“Thanks, Akaashi-san!” Bokuto cried out, still eying it off, even after Akaashi had shut the fridge door.

His mother didn’t stay for much longer, but as she left, she pulled her son closer to her mouth and whispered, “Think about marriage, Keiji. Sometimes these things just slip through your fingers.”

_Always finds the time to think about my love life, doesn’t she?_

“ _Goodbye_ , Mother.” Akaashi said with more force than necessary, and saw her off, before collapsing in the chair beside Bokuto. Bokuto had grabbed one of the containers out of the fridge, and was picking at the meat inside.

“Ham? It’s nice.”

“She’s so exhausting sometimes.” Akaashi moaned, and Bokuto nodded, still holding out a tiny piece for Akaashi. Akaashi sighed, leaning forward and eating it straight from Bokuto’s fingers. Akaashi rested his elbows on the table, head turned to face Bokuto.

“More?” Akaashi nodded almost pitifully, and Bokuto smiled sweetly at him, holding out some more. “Hey, Keiji?”

“Mm?”

“I love you.”

Akaashi felt his heart skip slightly, and he smiled, “I love you, too, Koutarou.”

Things are fine like this, Akaashi thought, everything was fine.

“ _When I call your name // Why does my heart start to hurt like this?”_ – Ra.D – Mother

 

> **APARTMENT #610**

For Tetsurou, life seems to move so slowly, yet so rapidly.

Sometimes, he wonders if it’s just his job, the ever changing, yet ever-remaining arguments and cases. It was job to develop, to learn and discover and put aside his own personal beliefs for the sake of his client. He has had to learn extreme patience, extreme wisdom, and most of all, to be rid of the urge to throw himself off the nearest cliff when his client is a fucking idiot. Kei laughs when Tetsurou tells him this. _Really_ , he said _, but you hang out with Lev._ Tetsurou thanks Kei for the reminder with his middle finger (he doesn’t really mean it, not really, but Lev is a fucking idiot).

Tetsurou has experienced so many awkward encounters he doesn’t even know where to begin.

For starters, seeing a past client while buying ice cream for your boyfriend, then proceeding to trip and spill it all over them. Horrific. Lev. Just, Lev. No other words necessary. The time he spilled coffee on his dress shirt right before he had to go into court, and it just so happened that a _heat wave_ decided to grace his presence, and Tetsurou had practically sweat so hard through his shirt that you could smell it (Tetsurou wondered if he should just never face that judge again, fuck this kid’s supposed not-burglary). Then, there was this morning. Lovely time, really.

Tetsurou had ducked down to the drugstore for a few essentials (aspirin, condoms, the usual), and was returning as usual. The elevator was out of order, so he was forced to take the stair route, which was fine, really. That is, until some bratty-ass kid runs past him, knocks the bag out of his hand, and the contents spill everywhere. As if that wasn’t bad enough. The kids mother came up the stairs just before he put the contents back in his bag, and gave him a horrified look, and because Kuroo was just having one of those days he thought it would be a wise idea to be a little shit, “At least you know that my partner and I are practicing healthy sexual relations!” 

He had a feeling this would be brought up in the next building meeting. _Fuck._

Other than that, Kuroo reached the apartment without incident. He passed Nishinoya, who was almost skipping down the stairs as he slapped Kuroo’s butt with no evil intention. Kuroo laughed, and pulled his key out, and stuck it in the door.

Kei and Tetsurou’s apartment was littered with photographs and legal documents Tetsurou needed to memorise. Kei’s cameras rest steadily on their respective shelves, all the accessories moved together neatly. Their desk was an odd mixture of files and USB’s, and the large apple monitor that rested at eye level was decorated in sticky notes. Their furniture was simple and comfortable, and there was so much spare room that the two didn’t really know what to do with it.

Tetsurou dumped the bag on the table, pulling out the aspirin and tossing it onto the bench. Their was soft talking somewhere around, but not in the immediate vicinity, so he took this moment to swear extremely loudly, and all but bash his head against a wall. “Healthy sexual relations? I made it sound like she was at risk of HIV or some shit, oh my god.”

“What the hell?”

The man, the myth, the healthy sexual relation. “I want to die.”

“Well isn’t that dramatic.”

“Is it though? Is it really?”

Tetsurou looked up at him, eyes desperate and in pain. Kei had his eyebrows raised, glasses resting low on his nose. He had been working, and Tetsurou had distracted him.

“I think you’re overreacting a little.”

“If you hear something about corrupting the youth at the next meeting, it’s on me. I apologise.”

“Were you selling cigarettes on the side of the road? Pouring lube all over the elevator to get it to work?” Kei knew fully that the last thing was extremely far fetched (both were, really, but especially the last). However, Tetsurou’s frustration at the elevator and the close proximity to Bokuto didn’t really help him believe otherwise.

“Dropped condoms as Katakura-san and her shitty kid went past.” Silence. “Then gave her a lovely, accidental insight into our rather healthy sex life.”

Kei made a low whistle, and Tetsurou groaned, dropping to his knees and resting his head in his arms on the table. It was almost pitiful if not for Tetsurou’s own stupidity, so Kei reached down and ran his fingers through Tetsurou’s hair in an attempt to comfort him. Tetsurou let out soft breaths that were supposed to be sobs, and Kei rolled his eyes at his boyfriend’s melodrama.

“If it makes you feel any better, she’s accused me of being a creeper for taking photos of the sky near the park.” Tetsurou winced, and Kei nodded, dropping down to his knees beside Tetsurou. “She just likes starting shit, you’ll be fine.”

Tetsurou cracked a grin, “Tsukki, if I did body paint of the sky would you take photos of me?” Kei’s grip on Tetsurou’s hair tightened as he told Tetsurou off, but all Tetsurou could do was laugh at the action.

“By the way, the person heard you yell fuck.”

“Person?” Tetsurou cocked his head to the side to face Kei, and Kei nodded.

“They offered me a job. Not gonna take it, though, school runs aren’t my thing.” Kei made a face. Tetsurou nodded in understanding while Kei sighed, “You’d think people would read a FAQ before trying to order a person’s services.”

“You’d think.”

“You’d think. But no, people have to waste _my_ time because they’re lazy assholes. Schools are the worst offenders.”

“Come work in my office for a day.” Tetsurou offered, but Kei shook his head furiously.

“I couldn’t stand wearing a suit all day, let alone all the other bullshit you deal with. No thanks.”

“What if you were taking pictures of me in my office?”

“Kuroo, you do realise that there isn’t any profit in that for me.”

“Um, excuse me, you get to take photos of my beautiful face. Is that not enough?”

Kei gave him _the look_ , and Tetsurou rose up to his full height, and pouted. The look from Kei didn’t waver, didn’t even move slightly, so Tetsurou leaned his face closer to Kei’s smirk on his lips.

“Still no profit.”

“What about now?”

Tetsurou reached up and grabbed Kei’s collar, pulling him in and pressing his lips against Tetsurou’s own. Kei didn’t move once, and Tetsurou broke back, dejected.

“Nope.”

“That was brutal, and I’m going to go cry about it in our room for an hour. Bye, Tsukki.”

“You do that, idiot.”

Tetsurou left, shoulders slumped, and while Kei knew he was faking it, he couldn’t stop his expression being even more done than previously. He grabbed aspirin out of the bag Tetsurou left and placed it neatly into its respective cupboard. He took one look at the condoms, and hung the bag containing the box on the handle of their bedroom door, and turned away without a second thought.

At this point, his phone rang.

“Tsukishima Kei speaking.”

“ _Ah, Tsukishima-san, hello_!” The voice was accented, and Kei was now intrigued. “ _I have a job offer for you, if you’re willing to listen_.”

“Go ahead,” his voice remained level, and the person laughed in delight.

“ _Excellent!_ ” the cried, “ _I’m Katherine Nakajima, and I work for a HaiMag in Tokyo. It said on your website that you do photography for magazines and stuff, yeah?_ ”

“I do, what did you have in mind?”

“ _Well, it’s a rather big proposal_.” Oh fuck.

“How big are we talking?”

“ _We’re looking to do a spread on the wonders of culture around the world, and we were wondering if you would be interested in it?_ ”

“Around the world?”

“ _Yes,_ _as an insight to modern diversity and multiculturalism._ ”

“You want me to travel and take pictures of Japanese culture then, I assume.”

“ _All travel costs will be covered by us, including hotels and other such necessities. The focal points are the United States, Australia, South Korea, the United Kingdom, and other surrounding European countries. Are you interested?_ ”

“I—I would have to know more about it. Would it be possible for an email to be sent with all the details and such?”

“ _Of course, of course. We understand it’s a big task. Do you want it to the email on your website?”_

 _Where the fuck else would I want it?_ “If you could, please.”

“ _This will be sent to you by the end of the day. We really hope you take the job, your talent is unedeniable.”_

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to read it when it does. Do I call back on this number, or reply to the email if I need further clarification?”

“ _Either is fine._ ”

“Alright, thank you.”

“ _Thank you._ ”

Kei hung up first, and sighed. A huge job? A huge _international_ job. There were so many factors that went into that, but by what the lady had described he was going to be out for a month, perhaps longer.

Kei sighed, and hoped the email he would soon receive would clear things up, ever so slightly. He dumped his phone on the kitchen table, and headed into the room where Tetsurou should be.

Tetsurou had cocooned himself in bed, and Kei rolled his eyes. He slipped off his glasses, placed them on the side table, and slid under the blankets with him. Tetsurou stirred with the movement, and turned over to face Kei. 

Kei gave him the kiss he owed, and Tetsurou’s grin was loud enough for them both.

Kei pushed the proposal out of his mind.

“ _Please close those pretty lips // don’t torment me_ ” – Pricked - WINNER

 

> **APARTMENT #510**

Hanamaki has a uniform kink. 

More specifically, a cop uniform kink. His initial interest in Matsukawa was not a complete mystery to those who knew this fact, and you could tell just by looking at the man and how weak he got when Matsukawa wore his uniform that hell, he thought Matsukawa was pretty god damn fine even without it. Matsukawa pretended not to notice when they first got together, only a few months prior. He ignored the way Hanamaki’s eyes trailed down his body, biting his lip, ignored how Hanamaki’s breath hitched whenever Matsukawa bent over in uniform, or really, did fucking anything, because _god damn_. However, it was quite hard _not_ to notice it when Hanamaki’s blaring horniness was starting to take over his lucidity (and his penis, but that is hardly the point). At the time, it was getting ridiculous.

“Control yourself, Takahiro,” Matsukawa had heard Hanamaki whisper once, shortly after they moved in together. Matsukawa had been strolling past him in the hallway then, and upon hearing this comment, he had turned around, pushed Hanamaki against the wall, and fucked him into oblivion (Hanamaki was more than pleased to not be able to sit properly for the next day or two if it meant Matsukawa doing such nasty, dirty things to him in that uniform).

It didn’t take a genius to figure out Hanamaki’s game, and it didn’t take a genius to find out just how many of his kinks were related to his uniform one. Really, it was almost scary. However, Matsukawa was incredibly pleased, because he knew, he _knew_ just how hard it was to find someone who was willing to go as far as choke you for your own sexual pleasure (Hanamaki, needless to say, was more than happy to go along once he knew Matsukawa would be safe, and really, it was _really fucking kinky_ ). Were they going ‘too fast’ with their relationship? Well, _who the fuck cares_ , because the sex is fucking fantastic, and yes, Matsukawa’s ass really did look great in that uniform. So, you and your fucking ideals can suck your own dicks.

Aside from the kinkiness in their after hour life, Hanamaki and Matsukawa had quite a tame relationship. It was domesticated and sweet and really, really fucking disgusting if they were being honest with themselves. Nothing had flooded, and nothing had been set alight, so really, it wasn’t all that bad. Well, their _that bad_ was Oikawa Tooru, so they thought they were pretty normal. That guy had shit to sort through, even though he was a nice guy.

In a way, Hanamaki would liken their apartment to their relationship, just that little bit. It was homey, with throw pillows on almost every soft surface they could find. Movies and DVD’s decorated the place almost religiously, and anything that seemed like it could be even the _slightest_ bit of an awkward item to explain, you bet Hanamaki has placed near Matsukawa’s things. Loving, with a little bit of assholery (literally, even).

Hanamaki tapped away at his keyboard, screen illuminating his face. The tiny text sprawled across the screen, instructing various tags to create a webpage at his very fingers. With every small adjustment, every new _div_ tag the page was transformed into a whole new animal (the majority of the time, for the worst – horrifyingly, even).

His latest project was a competition page for ANA. The airline was looking to give a free holiday to Hawaii for two weeks, hotel and tour fully paid for. Hanamaki tried not to let it get to him to much, the beach background _laughing_ at his dark room. It was an easy project, aside from the actual formatting. Sometimes Hanamaki hated his job to the point of murder, so he really was grateful that he was dating a cop.

Hanamaki whacked his head against the desk, groaning. “Stupid—fucking—programming—fucking—“

Matsukawa looked up from his laptop, “You alright?”

“I’m gonna murder whoever thought this competition was a good idea.” An exaggeration, the prize was quite amazing and generous, but really, Hanamaki had stopped caring hours ago. The beaches meant _nothing_ to him if they were causing him this much damage.

“Do I need to arrest you, Makki?” Matsukawa tilted his head.

“If I do get too close to murder, it would probably be for the best.”

Matsukawa raised an eyebrow, “In the literal way or the kinky way?”

“Literal, I actually need to get this project done well, I heard a rumour about a pay rise. I desire said pay rise. You get me.” Hanamaki ran a hand through his short, light hair. Matsukawa nodded sagely, and turned his head back down, tapping away.

“Money over kink, I get you.”

Hanamaki made a non-committal sound, and took a deep breath, moving back to work. There was the occasional pained groan, but Matsukawa knew that was a valid and quite necessary part of programming – apparently it boosts the productivity rate.

The Skype group chat greeted Matsukawa, and his eyes darted down to the newest message. Oikawa.

 **[ memekawa ]** guess what

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk** **]** oh no

 **[ memekawa ]** iwa-chan is back!!!!

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** you found someone to roleplay iwaizumi for you??? woa

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** thanks kinky

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** THAT'S**** KINKY

 **[ memekawa ]** get fucking memed on

 **[ memekawa ]** but no

 **[ memekawa ]** _[new picture message]_

 **[ memekawa ]** iwa-chan!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** holy shit hes real

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** nice bed hair btw

 **[ memekawa ]** fuck off

 **[ memekawa ]** but i know!!! he wont tell me why though and its hurting my feelings D:

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** what the fuck oikawa

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk** **]** also are you ever gonna change your skype name its been like twenty years

 **[ memekawa ]** what do I change it to then mattsun

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** iwaizumi’s bitch

 **[ memekawa ]** I JUST DROPPED MY PHONE AND NEARLY CRACKED IT

 **[ memekawa ]** absolutely not!!!!!

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** you should

 **[ memekawa ]** mattsun why

“Makki,” Matsukawa announced, “You know Iwaizumi, right?”

“Iwaizumi? The one Oikawa has been having gay angst over for like, twenty years. No joke.”

“That would be the one.”

“What about him?”

“You finally have the chance to challenge him to arm wrestling.”

Matsukawa had never seen Hanamaki move so fast. Hanamaki pushed his chair back, knocking it over, and all but ran out of the apartment. Matsukawa could hear him running to the stairs from where he sat, and he grinned.

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** makki’s coming up

 **[ memekawa ]** no skype sex in the group chat

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** unlock the door. trust me.

 **[ memekawa ]**??????????

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** trust me

Oikawa made no response, and Matsukawa sighed, switching over to his web browser. All was silent, and then his notifications blew up.

 **[ memekawa ]** B I C E P S

 **[ memekawa ]** HOLY BALLS

 **[ memekawa ]** I HAVE BEEN BLESSED

 **[ memekawa ]** MA KK I

 **[ memekawa ]** I HAVE BEEN DEPRIVED FOR SO LONG

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** lmao

 **[ bicepkawa ]** thank you hanamaki takahiro, you legend

 **[ bicepkawa ]** (iwa-chan seems thinner than before…………. im still appreciating but dude)

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** whos winning

 **[ bicepkawa ]** iwa-chan, naturally

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** ok wow

 **[ bicepkawa ]** also

 **[ bicepkawa ]** makki looks stressed

 **[ bicepkawa ]** and tense

 **[ bicepkawa ]** his eyes are bloodshot

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** I know

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** he’s been working rlly hard lately

 **[ bicepkawa ]** rip

 **[ bicepkawa ]** get him away from a screen for a while tho

 **[ bicepkawa ]** hes destroying his eyes

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** im trying to find some time to do smth together but like

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** ive been getting a lot of overnight shifts bc overtime (bless)

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** and when im not working, he’s working or theres not enough time to do anything

 **[ bicepkawa ]** find some time soon

 **[ bicepkawa ]** rip makki

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** I should be upset but

 **[ cool guy: enter the funk ]** rekt

Hanamaki comes back down, defeated and worn, and Matsukawa greets him at the door, the tiniest smirk on his face.

“Arrest me, officer.”

“Lame.”

“I don’t even care, take me.”

“But your project…”

“My project won’t fuck me, officer.”

“Fuck you over, maybe.”

“Mattsun, please.”

“ _Let’s spend this lonely night together // let’s forget everything and let’s get drunk” –_ Baby Baby – WINNER


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You were working?” Bokuto asked, “What on?”
> 
> Tsukishima grimaced, “The most passive aggressive email that I can muster, and I’d like to be left to it, thanks.”
> 
> “Don’t murder anyone, Tsukishima.”

> **APARTMENT #709**

That night, it was Iwaizumi who prepared dinner without Oikawa’s knowledge. It wasn’t that Oikawa was a bad cook (even if anything that isn’t a baked good seems to mysteriously get burned without anyone noticing). Iwaizumi needed the time to himself to process his thoughts, return to a decent routine. Hanamaki’s challenge just previously didn’t help this situation, but the satisfaction of utterly destroying his opponent could not be beaten. Everything that had happened weighed in on his mind. Physically, Iwaizumi felt lighter, freer. However, mentally, emotionally, Iwaizumi was not in the best place. All he could say was that he was ecstatic to be back in Japan, around people he’s used to. He was ecstatic to be back with Oikawa, even if he didn’t look it. Nor express it.

Korean lifestyle just didn’t work for him. It was so much pressure, constant pressure coming from so many directions. Societal norms were so different and overwhelming. What was expected of him was not something he could give, not something he felt comfortable giving. The entire way of living was vastly different, and not just in a cultural way. The way people behaved about… certain aspects… of himself was plain disgusting, plain inhumane. And that was only the xenophobic side of things. Who _cared_ if he was Japanese, honestly? All he was doing was attempting to study and live, but there were people that turned their noses up at him and treated him unfairly simply because of the nationality he was. And don’t even get Iwaizumi _started_ on his sexuality. By rights, Oikawa didn’t know that Iwaizumi was not strictly heterosexual, and Iwaizumi wondered how long it would take for him to notice. Oikawa, despite being extremely observant and aware of his surroundings, was sort of oblivious most of the time – especially about romance. Iwaizumi wouldn’t tell him upfront about it either, as he didn’t view it to be a big deal. If it became relevant, it became relevant, but otherwise there was nothing changed.

Iwaizumi knew he wasn’t a different person, either. He just happened to not particularly mind what the gender of the person he was going to date was. If he liked them, he liked them, no strings attached. It was as simple as that. And some people had the audacity to call him selfish, among other things. Fucking judgemental _assholes_. Yeah, Iwaizumi was happy to be back.

Iwaizumi was also currently sitting in front of an Oikawa who looked like a deer in the headlights at what he was just asked. Iwaizumi repeated his question, and Oikawa clears his throat and takes a bite of his chicken, chewing it carefully. The light was low in their apartment, not enough to turn the light on but still not as light as Iwaizumi would normally like. Shadows covered Oikawa’s face, making his eyes seem more hollow than usual. His answer was clearly formulated, edited carefully to attempt to appease Iwaizumi.

“I’m not having money troubles, Iwa-chan! What made you think that?” He grinned, but it was far too forced, and Iwaizumi had to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes so hard that they fell out. Iwaizumi could look at him from a mile off and know exactly what bullshit was permeating in his mind. Oikawa was like that.

Iwaizumi put a hand out, pointing at various walls in the apartment. “Half of your shit has been sold, that’s why.” The vacant spots stood out against the cream coloured walls, and Oikawa’s eyes lingered there for a second too long.

“I sold stuff that I didn’t need anymore.”

Well, he wasn’t _wrong_ as such, Oikawa really didn’t need half of that crap. Even then, it didn’t make the décor look any nicer either, but Iwaizumi understood that Oikawa loved it, so all he did was complain mildly. Iwaizumi gave a ragged sigh, “Normally, I’d agree with you because four fucking lava lamps is excessive and frankly wasteful, but…”

“But…?” Oikawa’s voice was hopeful, if not still hesitant.

“You loved that shit, and then you sold it. I’m just saying that that screams of something being wrong.” Iwaizumi paused, “Also, you are three months behind on rent. Apparently.”

“I’ve got that covered, Iwa-chan.”

“And yet, I’m not convinced,” Iwaizumi tapped his fingers on the table in no particular rhythm, and waited for Oikawa’s response. Oikawa stared at his food, twirling his chopsticks around in his fingers. Iwaizumi took a bite, and Oikawa finally opened his mouth.

“I’ve been helping my sister with Takeru’s school costs, but really, Iwa-chan, I’m fine.” There was an edge in Oikawa’s voice, and it made Iwaizumi uncomfortable. Undoubtedly curious, but uncomfortable.

“She in money trouble?” That didn’t sound right – last he had heard they were doing quite well. Her job was going splendidly and her husband had recently gotten a promotion in his company, along with Takeru himself going to one of the higher end schools in the area. The idea of Oikawa’s older sister in a bit of a pinch was almost like hearing that the comfort of a mother’s cooking was worse than any meal made yourself.

“Not exactly,” Oikawa dodged expertly, forcing his smile to reach his eyes, but it had no shine, “She’s just had to ask for a little bit to cover the rest of the costs for his tutoring and stuff.”

“Can’t you tutor him?” That’s what Oikawa had done in school. Whenever he could he would tutor his nephew after school and on weekends, the both of them doing their homework together and Takeru being free to ask for any help he needed. Obviously, Takeru tended to avoid help because he insisted he was a big boy, but sometimes even big boys needed ‘a pinch of Tooru genius’, as the man himself had insisted.

Oikawa shook his head, “The only time we’re both free is on Sunday’s, if we’re lucky. Doesn’t work out. This is how I’m helping.”

“Right…”

“But that’s all, really. I do have almost all the rent money, and Noya’s pretty lenient with me so he’s not pressing it too much.” Oikawa looked relieved at this, but it just sent Iwaizumi’s stomach into a fit of worry.

“Wouldn’t want to leave it much longer, he could easily kick you out,” Iwaizumi pointed out, “Lenient or not.”

“And I thank my lucky stars that he hasn’t,” Oikawa grins mildly, “But I don’t think we should be talking about me.”

Iwaizumi didn’t like the implications of this, so he raised an eyebrow, swallowing his food. “Deviating from your favourite subject? What the hell did I miss?” Childish, admittedly, but the twitch of Oikawa’s mouth was enough to leave Iwaizumi quite satisfied. It was somewhat honest, and that was enough for that kind of joke.

“Shut up,” Oikawa chided, “I’m not my own favourite subject.”

“Yeah, it’s Mulder and Scully, I know.” Iwaizumi thought back to the many times he’s sat with Oikawa while he re-watched episodes of the loved television series, and grinned, “Spooky.”

Over the years, the two of them held regular marathon-ing sessions with whatever was popular at the time. Whether it was new movies, a season or three of a television series, or just really shitty movies that they laughed at. It was just what they did – aside from volleyball, this was _their thing_. He remembers watching _The X-Files_ so often that he could probably recite all of Oikawa’s favourite episodes off by heart without any prompts what-so-ever. He also remembers all the shitty movies he’s been subjected to, with their pregnancy-break-up-cancer-dying plots ( _yes_ , he is most definitely referring to _Koizora_ , fuck you Oikawa Tooru, for _subjecting_ him to that monstrosity).

“Not spooky.” Oikawa pouted, but for a second his eyes shone, even if it was just a little bit. “You never did say why you came back early.”

There was a punch in Iwaizumi’s gut. Ah. That was to be expected. “I did, though.”

“Saying ‘shit happens’ doesn’t count.” Oikawa imitated, and Iwaizumi clenched his jaw. The dumbass was right, but Iwaizumi wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it.

“Shit. Happens. And now I’m back.”

“And yet, I’m not convinced,” Iwaizumi’s own words come back to bite him in the ass. Fucking Oikawa.

“Look, it’s nothing to concern yourself over, alright?” Iwaizumi lied, “The stress of academia is different to here, and there was a whole load more pressure than I was expecting. It was overwhelming, and one minor mental breakdown later I’m back.”

This… wasn’t technically a lie, when he thought about it. The level of stress upon Iwaizumi’s shoulders was phenomenal, times where he wondered if completing his course was even worth it, especially when there were so many other pathways available to him. However, his reason for returning was different entirely.

“Mental breakdown?” Oikawa’s voice was drenched in concern, and Iwaizumi cringed at his choice of words.

“Not really breakdown, but,” Iwaizumi gave a sheepish grin, “I just—I dunno, wasn’t happy in Korea. And here I am.”

“Are you happy here?”

“Happier then I ever would be there.” Iwaizumi’s reaction was automatic, and he had to physically restrain himself from slapping a hand over his own mouth. Oikawa, thankfully, seemed satisfied with that answer, and moved on fairly quickly (after the appropriate amount of teasing and the word _dumbass_ being thrown around a fair bit).

The rest of the night was rather quiet. After cleaning up the dishes, Oikawa cleaned the floors of his living room a small bit while Iwaizumi hung all of his clothes on hangers and ordered them neatly in his cupboard. He then dumped everything he possibly could on the floor to store and sort out properly after he had more furniture. Herein lies the problem. Iwaizumi had not yet told Oikawa about the bed situation, and had already sentenced himself to a few nights on the couch after doing some job-hunting in the dead of the night. As he brushed his teeth, he wondered just how more comfortable the couch might be if he piled up all of Oikawa’s throw pillows and laid on them. And he thought that plane seats where uncomfortable, so naïve.

Iwaizumi had thrown on some sweats before accepting his fate. He could probably use the time before he slept tonight to find a frame and mattress, possibly even a cheap one at that. He had already planned on going to the shops the next day to grab a few necessities (shampoo, spices, a few more pairs of underwear), but the nearest furniture store would have to be added onto his list. It would cut his daylight hours in half, and on top of that he had to organise all of his school equipment on the desk that had remained. Iwaizumi tapped at his phone lazily as he walked towards his doom, but he wasn’t expecting Oikawa in the kitchen, laptop illuminating his face in the dark.

“What are you doing?” Iwaizumi asked, and Oikawa just about fell off his chair, startled. Iwaizumi gave quick snort as Oikawa clutched his chest, taking a deep breath.

“What are _you_ doing?” Oikawa asked childishly, recovering from his previous scare.

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

 _How childish._ “Just answer the god damn question, Oikawa.”

“You answer the question, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi conceded, if only to shut him up. “I’m going to look at beds before sleeping, what are _you_ doing?”

Oikawa perked up at this, “Why are you looking for beds?”

“Because I sold mine before leaving, and I’m not sleeping on the fucking floor for the rest of eternity.” Iwaizumi’s voice was laced with annoyance, and Oikawa’s eyebrows shot through the roof.

“Why didn’t you tell me!” Oikawa pouted, “I’ll let you take my bed.”

“What?” Iwaizumi asked, “I’ve seen the bombsite out here, your room would be at least ten times worse.”

“It’s not on the bed, Iwa-chan, take it.” Oikawa insisted, but Iwaizumi shook his head.

“I’m not taking your bed, Shitkawa,” he said, “You need it far more than I do.” This much was true, there were bags under Oikawa’s eyes and if the phone call he overheard with Nishinoya was anything to go off of, he wasn’t sleeping properly, if at all. The idiot.

“Just take it!”

“I’m not getting in your fucking bed, goodnight Shitkawa. Don’t stay up late.” And that was that.

Iwaizumi walked off, not caring that Oikawa had made an indignant noise and an excuse, and flopped onto the couch. He immediately regretted that decision, as even through the cushions were usually soft, he could feel his chest hitting the springs. Iwaizumi cringed slightly, and rolled over.

This was going to be a long night.

In the morning, Iwaizumi realised his mistake.

He never fucking found out what Oikawa was doing.

_“Today the moon shines brighter / on the blank spot in my memories” – Save Me // BTS_

> **APARTMENT #510**

Hanamaki had woken up before Matsukawa could even imagine, or well, _anyone_ could even imagine. The ass crack of the morning was a disgusting hour, filled with disappointment, broken dreams, and yawns that seemed to last for years on end. To be honest, Hanamaki was wondering if his boyfriend knew hours before eleven in the morning even existed. Since his workplace was in the middle of the city, peak hour traffic was always a hell beyond all hells, so he had to be awake at the unthinkable hours of the morning. And by unthinkable, Hanamaki meant that the thought of them made him want to suffocate himself with the duvet (which he may not have tried three times this morning before sliding his toes out from under the covers).

The sun had not risen, and Hanamaki slid out of the bed as soundless as ever, and worked his way into the bathroom. He had a brisk shower, and while wrapping a towel around his waist, he dragged his sorry ass into the kitchen for a quick breakfast. His cereal was drowned in milk, and the sugar he sprinkled over the top made the lack of light in the apartment seem less depressing than it actually was. Mildly.

Early mornings, simply put, were a fucking bitch. Early mornings with the foreboding and frankly terrifying amount of coding that needed to be finished were even worse. They were about the same as shoving your dick in a blender, and watching Oikawa’s hand get dangerously close to the switch, even though he knew it wasn’t plugged in. (Not that that has ever happened to Hanamaki, obviously…). No amount of early mornings will ever make them any easier – in fact, it probably makes them harder.

Hanamaki liked to _pretend_ he liked going to work, liked doing shitty ass government projects that looked like the previous programmer had just stuck their dick on the keyboard and started wanking out the most undecipherable bullshit imaginable. He pretended he liked having to put on a false cheery face when he could feel himself slowly dying because of the ridiculous amounts of comments on the god damn screen (some days Hanamaki thinks that if he sees another exclamation point again, he will through himself off the nearest cliff in an exclamation point costume). Hanamaki pretended he would rather be there than working on his own personal project, which had received little to no love in the past year in a half.

Hanamaki drank the last of his milk and all but tossed the bowl and spoon into the sink, the metal clanking together loudly. Hanamaki dragged himself back into the bedroom, and grabbed the hangers he set out the night before, accurately predicting his current zombie-like state. He dressed himself almost mechanically, pulling the thick end of the tie through the loop with a few nimble movements. He grabbed his jacket, flicked it over his shoulder, and promptly tossed it onto the couch in the living room, before flopping down next to it. He was careful not to crease his dress shirt, and he pulled his phone out of his pocket and swiped it open. No notifications, so it went back in his pocket.

God, this sucked balls. He would know – they were kind of gross, and it’s safe to say Hanamaki would _never_ be doing that again. Fucking no thanks. Hanamaki thought of many things he would rather be doing at ass crack o’clock. Most of them had some variation of the word sleeping (some were safer for your children’s ears than others). Asking a man who enjoyed his sleep to wake up early and sleep late was asking a child who loved candy to never touch a lollipop again in their life – blasphemous, truly abhorrent.

Hanamaki’s eyes flicked down to his wrist, and he pulled up his sleeve to see the hands. _Fuck_.

He jumped up and jogged gently into the bedroom, kissed Matsukawa’s forehead, before running and grabbing his jacket and book bag, already packed, before heading out of the apartment. Hanamaki sometimes liked to pretend he was a spy infiltrating a secure location in order to keep himself from passing out on the trip down and _dying_. It was far more entertaining than the lack of movement in the building. He’d sneak around the corners, and the slightest scuff of his shoes made the thrill real. He’d jump down multiple stairs at a time to save time and expend some energy, holding his finger gun to amuse himself. He was only caught once, and it’s safe to say he’s timed his trip down so he never encounters Katakura ever again.

All this to distract him from fucking coding.

Fucking hell.

~

Night shifts for Matsukawa were full of the same old bullshit. Drunken men and women staggering home after their time in the bar, breaking up some idiots trying to start the deed in the middle of the god damn highway, and of course, everyone’s favourite, noise complaints. Those complaints where you could feel the bass dropping at your feet, even just turning into the street. The complaints were most of the owners were too drunk off their asses to even fully comprehend what they were saying to Matsukawa. The complaints where you never really know what to expect, and tend to watch where you step, because anything between alcohol and jizz could be all over the floor. (Matsukawa had learned his lesson long ago, fuck the one particular apartment just off of the highway on the second floor – fuck you, 2A).

Upon being called for yet another noise complaint, Matsukawa would have never guessed what he was witnessing in this very moment. Of all the moronic, alcohol-induced things he could have seen in his entire life, this by far took the cake. And that was saying more than any _War and Peace_ ever could.

“Get it off, get it off!” the record holder cried out in pain, hands frantically calling over anyone in sight to help. His face was scrunched up and his bottle of beer was discarded at his feet. “Get it off!” he cried out one more time, and Matsukawa understood why he was making so much noise when his eyes flicked ever so slightly upwards. He wished that he hadn’t looked.

This man had a balloon on his dick. Just there. Had taken the term _blowjob_ a bit too seriously. What he didn’t get was why he was finding it so stressful taking off. The balloon itself was most likely latex, meaning it should be simple enough. Then again, yelling out ‘it’s like a condom’ is not the most professional thing to do. Matsukawa wasn’t sure where to look. The kids were probably too intoxicated to take it off out of the kindness of their hearts, and there was hardly any way he was going to be doing it.

The whole exercise turned into the search for the Designated Sober Friend™ who had made themselves scarce. Matsukawa forced himself to step over the bottle discarded, and his eyes flicked through the partygoers. He turned the stereos that he passed down ever so slightly, and when he spotted a young girl by the music, he knew that he had found his gem. He jogged over, and tapped her shoulder.

She jumped, and looked at him in surprise. “Is this music too loud? I can turn it down, Officer.”

“That would be a great help. Have you had any drinks?” The girl shook her head, and Matsukawa sighed, “Is there a way to deal with… that…” he was unsure what word to apply to the situation, and her eyes followed his, and when Matsukawa turned to look her in the eye again he wondered if he would see a face so sick of someone’s shit ever again. It was truly a sight to see. Matsukawa, maintaining a certain level of professionalism that he had to master from knowing Oikawa, nodded sagely, as though he understood exactly what was on her mind.

It wasn’t that the sight was particularly shocking - one of his paramedic friends, Kunimi, always told stories of people getting shit stuck in places that there should never be shit stuck (in both a literal and metaphorical sense). She gave a heavy sigh, and worked on over there, calmly instructing the somewhat hysterical young man to roll the balloon off of his penis, despite muttering some very dark insults under her breath.

Once (Matsukawa assumed) the balloon was safely removed from any genitalia, she yelled at him, calling him “ _the biggest fucking idiot she has seen in her soon to be limited lifetime, simply from his idiocy_ ”, and Matsukawa was forced to choke back a loud cackle. He’d have to file that one for certain instances (Iwaizumi related) with a certain someone (Oikawa), but Matsukawa wasn’t going to name any names. A few insults were thrown around either way, but the girl faced Matsukawa and yelled out, “The idiot’s fine, I’ll keep it quiet, Officer.”

Matsukawa gave an appreciative nod, and left the party, that was now considerably quieter. He jumped into his car and gave a low whistle, the events replaying in his mind. This quiet moment of confusion was interrupted by his radio. _Fucking hell_.

~ 

“I hate meeting in the mornings like this.”

Matsukawa had just arrived home from his shift when Hanamaki was preparing to head out. His breakfast was set out on the bench for him – toast with jam and a banana on the side – and Hanamaki gave him a lazy and exhausted grin. The rims of his eyes were a soft red, and his eyes were bloodshot. He’d obviously stayed up late working, never really knowing when to stop.

“How was your night?”

“A guy stuck a balloon on his dick, you?”

Hanamaki gave a quiet laugh, obviously not having the energy to put more enthusiasm into it. “Akaashi from upstairs dropped down and told me that Oikawa was being a bit of a bitch, so I destroyed him in the group chat to return the equilibrium. I’ll be fucked if I let him brag about Iwaizumi’s win for him.”

Matsukawa shook his head, “When will he learn?”

“Hopefully never, it’s funnier that way.” Hanamaki glanced at his watch, “I’ll be late if I don’t go now, and then my manager will kick my ass.”

“Go then." 

Hanamaki cocked his head to the side, pouting slightly, “Kiss?”

Matsukawa leaned down and gave him a quick peck, before turning him around and all but pushing him out the door. “Hey.” Hanamaki says softly, and Matsukawa stops.

“Are you free Saturday morning?”

Matsukawa winced, “Gotta go in.”

Hanamaki nodded, disappointment brewing in his stomach, “Alright, that’s fine. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah, have a good time at work."

“Fuck off.” Hanamaki half-heartedly flipped him off. He was about to shut the door, but he abruptly stopped, “Issei?”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck me tonight, will you?”

“Go to _work_.” Matsukawa’s grin widened, and Hanamaki shut the door behind him at last.

_“The tomorrow we’ve been waiting for becomes the name of yesterday at some point” – Tomorrow // BTS_

> **APARTMENT #609**

Children wailing was always a bad sign for Akaashi, no matter what the circumstance.

In the middle of a shopping centre? Fuck that. In a medical practician? _Fuck that_. In the middle of a playground with not enough swings for everyone to share? No fucking wonder that when he drank, he drank his liver to death (Akaashi has actually googled whether his bad drinking habits will kill him at the end of the day, and so far all signs point to _who the fuck knows_ so long as he doesn't drink _often_ ). Simply put, children wailing was a literal nightmare, despite his job. It makes life just that bit harder, and when the other kids start becoming moody and temperamental because of their newly formed headaches, its hell. Akaashi wonders if he’s permanently stuck in a migraine some days.

Thank god for Yamaguchi, honestly. The man was a legend at dealing with kids crying, whereas Akaashi was far better when they were quiet and eager to learn or play. Crying children he could deal with, but they made him desperately want a drink. Or a smoke. Or both, sometimes, depending on the severity.

Akaashi didn’t even want to know what the little brat Miura had done this time. She had an uncanny habit of pushing others around when she didn’t get what she wanted, of wailing when things didn’t go her way, and bragging unnecessarily about all the expensive toys her father had bought for her. No matter what he tried, no matter what Yamaguchi tried, she would always be inconsiderate, and uncooperative. He really shouldn’t be calling a child a brat considering his profession, but given this one particular nuisance, he’ll let it slide.

Yamaguchi had crouched down beside her, wiping her tears away and asking her in a gentle voice what had happened. Akaashi ushered the other children away from her, and they all whispered about it. Suzuki tugged on Akaashi’s hand and asked him if Miura was going to be okay, in a shaky voice.

Akaashi gave a soothing smile, “Of course she is. I’m not sure why she’s upset, but this has happened before and she’s been fine, right?” Suzuki nodded, “She’ll be alright, okay?”

“Okay, Akaashi-sensei.” Suzuki seemed satisfied with this, and he let go of Akaashi’s hand to run over to his friends. Akaashi pushed on his knees as he stood up, eyes glazing over all the children playing. He wiped his hands on his jeans and rested them by his sides.

Miura eventually ran over to the other children, and Yamaguchi followed after her, standing at Akaashi’s side. Yamaguchi was only slightly shorter than Akaashi, with gentle eyes and a soft smile. He scrunched up his nose, freckles momentarily disappearing. His lips were full and stuck in a grimace.

“She wanted to go on the swings but the others wouldn’t let her push in.”

“Good riddance, she needs to learn to wait her turn.” Akaashi muttered, and Yamaguchi nodded sagely. His full lips were pulled tightly together.

“You know, Keiji,” Yamaguchi noted, “For someone who looks the way you do, and has the air around you that you do, I really wouldn’t pick you to be like this towards a kid.”

He didn’t really know what to make of that statement. Akaashi shrugged, “It is what it is.”

“I mean I totally relate, but I’d never voice it.”

“You just did.” Akaashi pointed out, and Yamaguchi grinned sheepishly, as though he hadn’t thought of that. He shrugged, and gave a dismissive hand gesture.

“Not the point.”

It was about midday, the sun at it’s highest point in the sky. Children’s laughter and chatter filled the air around them as they jumped around and played on the equipment available to them. The sun reflected off the sand that scattered the ground, as that shit went positively everywhere, children or no children. The sky today was clear and blue, not a single cloud in sight, and the occasional plane and helicopter could be heard overhead, causing excitement among the tiny humans.

It was playtime, and in approximately ten minutes Akaashi was going to get his quiet for the day – nap time. All the children would lie down and stay quiet, if not sleep, and Akaashi and Yamaguchi could clean while they did this and prepare the next activity. For now, though, the two supervised the class of fifteen in their play, watching them pretend to be aeroplanes and cars and police officers and robbers. They watched their innocence run through as the police officers always caught the bad guys, the heroes always prevailing. Akaashi found himself often wondering how these young children could have such a positive outlook on the world, when they were so naïve to the truth, so naïve to anything around them.

That went towards adults as well as children. Humanity, as a whole, doesn’t understand anything. They spend such a long time attempting to understand themselves, understand the world around them and what is truly out there, that their lives end. It was fleeting, and there were days Akaashi wondered if it was simply better to stay naïve, with childlike innocence. Of course, understanding things is not a crime either. Medical advances, technological, astrological, physical and metaphysical are all important to humanity, but really, there were some things that didn’t need to be understood.

Existentialism aside, the way Akaashi looked at children was that of fascination. They were so innocent to the world, so pure and full of curiosity and generosity. He liked children because they were like this – they hadn’t had all the fun and imagination sucked out of them like a lot of older people. To them, there was magic in the world, there were aliens and knights and superheroes and fairies and all things good and pure. There was no war, because all the good guys would prevent it. There was no suffering and no one without someone to care for, because everyone deserves someone – a friend, a family member, a lover. Akaashi really admired children.

Yamaguchi shifted his weight beside Akaashi, and quietly coughed to grab his attention, “If you see Tsukki some time in the near future, can you pass on a very threatening message?”

Akaashi raised an eyebrow, and nodded slowly. “What kind of message.”

“Yacchan says to, quote-unquote, ‘call me or I will poison all of the strawberry milk in your house’. I didn’t ask.” Yamaguchi shrugged, “Tsukki will get the message, apparently.”

Akaashi didn’t question it, “Sure thing.”

Yamaguchi checked his watch, “Not long until quiet time.”

“How long?”

“Like, a minute.”

The two rounded the children up, and the rest of the day went as it usually did. The last child was picked up at ten past five, and Yamaguchi and Akaashi returned all the toys back to their rightful positions, ready for the next day. Yamaguchi called out something about meeting Yachi for a date, and Akaashi wished him well.

Akaashi slung his own bag over his shoulder, and stepped outside the kindergarten, and leaned against one of the concrete pillars outside. Notifications lit up his lock screen, and he scanned through them, ignoring the ones sent from his mother. His eyes met with the last one on his list, and the corners of his lips twitched upwards.

 **[ koutarou <3 ] **not far away!!!!!!!

 **[ koutarou <3 ] **can’t wait for a hug babe <3333

“Keiji!”

Akaashi’s head snapped upwards, and he revealed all his teeth in his usual gummy smile. Bokuto was jogging over to him, waving as he did. His _adidas_ bag collided with his legs as he ran, but Bokuto didn’t seem to mind it a single bit. Akaashi stepped forward to meet him, and Bokuto all but slammed into him. He wrapped his arms around Akaashi’s shoulders, and Akaashi returned the favour around his waist. They swayed with the momentum, turning in a circle before letting go of each other. They shared matching smiles.

“Hello, Koutarou.” Akaashi’s smooth voice was full of warmth as he spoke, and Bokuto beamed at him like the sun on a summers day. Full of brightness that almost hurt Akaashi to look at for far too long.

“How was work?” he asked, offering his hand out to Akaashi, who took it happily. The two began walking together, shoulders bumping as they took a step forward. Bokuto’s strides were far bigger than Akaashi’s, who opted for smaller yet faster steps.

“Alright, kids are kids. We did finger painting in the morning, see?” Akaashi showed Bokuto his nails on his free hand, which had traces of primary colours dried up on the edges. “I painted a butterfly and an ocean.” The butterfly had purple wings with a red body, and the ocean was a mixture of different blues on the page, with the yellow sun peaking over the edge of the horizon.

“Cute,” Bokuto commented, crinkles by his eyes. Akaashi’s lips twitched upwards.

“I think it was too,” Akaashi agreed, and then his attention turned elsewhere, “Did practice go well?”

“Yeah, hit a bunch of good spikes and got off pretty lightly on scolding.”

“What’d you do this time?” Bokuto was more than renowned for his practical jokes among his teammates, always finding time to take the piss out of something. The practices he went through were gruelling, and while Bokuto had extreme passion in whatever he did and tried hard in, the lack of room for movement and fun really got to him during practice. In high school, there was always leeway for Bokuto to mess around a little bit with his teammates, joke around and have a good time, but at national level, it extremely difficult to do so due to the pressure.

Bokuto cracked a grin, “Sprayed Kageyama with my water bottle on a dare. Pretty god damn funny if you ask me, but obviously not to him.”

“ _Koutarou_.”

“I’m just saying, it’s warm and practice is hell. Worth. It.”

“You shouldn’t have sprayed him.”

There was silence, and the two of them burst into little giggles like twelve year olds laughing at a _your mum_ joke. Bokuto was laughing deeply from his diaphragm, clutching at Akaashi for support. Akaashi, however, had reached the point in hysteria where his laughs had turned silent. The two of them had to stop walking as they doubled over with laughter, despite it not even being that funny. Akaashi was clutching his stomach, Bokuto’s hand completely forgotten. Akaashi had become a support beam for Bokuto, the bigger man barely able to stay upright purely from laughing so hard.

“ _Yeah, Keiji, I shouldn’t have sprayed_ him _, it should have been you.”_

Akaashi made an indignant noise at the thought, his laugh becoming audible once more as it dies down into mere giggles. Bokuto took a few deep breaths, and when the two caught each other’s eyes they couldn’t help but start laughing once more. It was much shorter and when they both calmed down Akaashi had the straightest face he could manage. Bokuto followed suit uncharacteristically. There was a moment of silent understanding between them.

“Don’t make ejaculation jokes in public, Koutarou.”

Bokuto cracked a grin, “You know I can’t help it. It just comes.”

“ _Stop_ ,” Akaashi demanded, voice full of amusement as he whacked Bokuto on the shoulder. Bokuto gave a short, hearty laugh before offering his hand out to Akaashi his hand. Akaashi took it and laced their fingers together, giving his hand a quick squeeze.

Bokuto had a spring to his step after this, and Akaashi had to take double the steps to keep up with his pace. They reached the apartment in record time, and Akaashi stopped Bokuto before he walked inside. Bokuto gave him a curious look, and Akaashi had an evil glint in his eye.

“I’m passing a message on to Tsukishima, you want to come with me?” Bokuto beamed at him and jumped along to the next door down. Akaashi rapped on the door, and it opened fairly quickly.

Tsukishima ran a hand through his blonde hair and gave a polite smile at Akaashi, and a less polite smile at Bokuto. He had his sweats on, obviously not expecting any sort of company. His glasses were rounder than what he usually wore, hanging lower on the bridge of his nose than what he normally would. He leaned against the doorframe lazily.

“What’s up?”

“I have a message from Yachi-san.”

Tsukishima’s eyes widened, but they returned shortly after as though he understood what Akaashi was about to tell him, “Say no more. I know.”

Akaashi grinned, “She said she’ll poison your milk if you don’t call her."

Tsukishima raised his eyebrows, and nodded slowly, “As if she’s tall enough to reach it. Thanks, Akaashi.”

“Hey, hey, Tsukki!” Bokuto exclaimed, slapping Tsukishima’s back. Tsukishima almost stumbled forward at the sheer force of it, coughing and spluttering to regain his breath. He didn’t bother to give a forced smile at the man’s enthusiasm, and scowled at him severely.

“Hello, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto, oblivious to Tsukishima’s perpetual bad attitude and utterly forced politeness, beamed at the use of _–san_ at the end of his name. “I’m just stopping by with this one,” he pointed a thumb at Akaashi, “but hey, I like your glasses so it’s a win-win for everyone.”

“My glasses?” Tsukishima asked, touching a hand to the rim. He opened his mouth in surprise, and looked away shyly. The tips of his ears were red, “Thanks, I guess.” He obviously wasn’t used to wearing that style in front of people, and he fiddled with them with the tiniest smile on the corners of his lips.

“You should wear them more often, they suit you.” He complimented, and all Tsukishima was left to do was stare at him in surprise. Tsukishima shuffled his feet, as if he was waiting for something, or someone. He scanned between Bokuto and Akaashi.

“Um… is that all? Threat and apparent compliment?” Tsukishima danced around his words, as if he was worried about being rude.

“Pretty much, yeah.” Akaashi thought, “Oh, and tell Yamaguchi I’m not an owl.”

“I beg to differ. Nice _Harry Potter_ reference, though.” Tsukishima commented, and then gave a joking smile, “If that’s all, I should probably get back to work.”

“You were working?” Bokuto asked, “What on?”

Tsukishima grimaced, “The most passive aggressive email that I can muster, and I’d like to be left to it, thanks.”

“Don’t murder anyone, Tsukishima.”

Tsukishima laughed under his breath, almost too dark, “Yeah, I’ll try. Thanks for passing on the message. Good evening.”

“See you, Tsukki!”

“Have a good night.” Akaashi smiled at him, and Tsukishima shut the door. Bokuto turned to Akaashi, a grin on his face.

“We heading in now?”

“Yeah.”

“No more death threats?” Bokuto asked childishly, and Akaashi gave him a stunning smile.

“No more death threats.”

 _“I’ve waited for a long time. I can’t if it’s not you. / You know what? All I need is your love.”_ – _Love Song // Miss A_  

> **APARTMENT #610**

Kei just really _really_ love it when he received an email with attachments on his phone. He _really_ loved it when he opened his laptop to download said attachments and they took all of five minutes to fully download. He especially loved it when he tried to open one of them, and the file was corrupted, and upon attempting to open the rest, he discovered that the entire lot was corrupted. Corrupted, _fucking corrupted_. Of all the things it could be, it was inaccessible. Denied. Kei was half expecting a fucking virus warning to pop up about the extent of damage the files were about to cause to his computer, and more importantly, the damage to his liver after it fails from this god damn experience.

God _fucking dammit_.

Either that offer was a giant fucking scam, or life literally decided to fuck itself in the ass, jizzing all over his luck. Kei furiously selected all of the files and dropped them into the trash can before deleting them, and snapped the lid of his laptop shut in anger. He held it in his hands tightly, shaking angrily as he did. He set it down on the table and took a quick walk around the room to calm himself down. Kei wondered if his angry footsteps could be heard in the unit below his own, and if there would be a complaint from Matsukawa for waking him up. (This wasn’t an unusual occurrence, and Matsukawa was a pretty understanding and relaxed dude, but still, the guy sure liked to complain).

Not only was this email extremely late, but it was broken. Fucking fantastic really. He would have to either call the lady on the phone, or reply to the email. Both were extremely risky options. If he were to talk on the phone Kei wasn’t sure he could keep the utter annoyance and unprofessionalism out of his voice. This would mean one of two things: he’d accidentally swear, or switch into provocation mode, and act like he was talking to the shrimp. If he was to send an email, there was no Tetsurou to stop him from typing a stream of swear words about the incompetence and bullshit that they put forth, and then typing an extremely passive aggressive response about his opinion on what he was offered. Both were far too dangerous, far too risky, and they had the chance to blow up in his face massively.

Kei had done some thinking in the day before receiving this email, weighing up the pros and cons of this offer. It was truly phenomenal, almost unreal, and when he thought about it it was too good to be true. An all paid for trip around the world to take photos of shit. _Too good._ Naturally, the pros of this were through the roof. He had the opportunity to expand his folio, learn more about other cultures in the world, experience life outside of his apartment in all of it’s glory. He could discover new and exciting ideas and muses, and really develop overall as a photographer. The cons were on the opposite end of the scale. He’d be away from home for a long time, meaning he’d be away from comfort, from Akiteru, from Tetsurou. He wouldn’t be able to take any other jobs while he was doing this project, and he wasn’t entirely sure about the accreditation for his work and how much work was going to be involved. Would he be editing his photos along with taking them? What kinds of shots did they want? How many? How big was this article and piece going to be? Was his pay for it truly worth it?

Kei took a few deep breaths in attempt to calm himself down, and he rubbed his temples to soothe the headache rapidly forming. Everything was going to be _fine_. He just had to take a few moments to calm himself down before contacting the company. Deep breaths, in and out. In and out. In and—

 **[ keiii ]** if I murder someone will u be my lawyer

 **[ tetsulmao ]** That’s concerning and I am afraid for anyone in your presence.

 **[ keiii ]** broken email

 **[ tetsulmao** **]** Relatable.

 **[ keiii ]** im dead

 **[ tetsulmao ]** Try not to kill anyone babe. I can call in about an hour?

 **[ keiii ]** yes please

Clearly, the deep breathing did not work, and Kei paced backwards and forwards for the longest time, mulling over his thoughts. His phone finally rang, and Kei took it and answered it with the most long-suffering sigh he could manage. There was enough background noise on Tetsurou’s line for Kei to put extra attention into his hearing.

“ _Someone sounds eager to talk_ ,” Tetsurou laughed over the line as a way of greeting, and Kei gave a softer sigh. Kei could imagine Tetsurou unbuttoning his jacket and pulling it open, revealing the dress shirt he was wearing underneath. He could imagine the thin eyes watching the traffic pass by, the drivers of the vehicles eager to reach their destination within the busy city. Kei tapped his fingers against the table, before stilling them, thinking of the next words to say.

“Sorry, I’m just really stressed over this thing. I still haven’t sent a notice.” Kei’s grip around the edge of his phone tightened, and he could hear the disapproving sigh in Tetsurou’s voice as he spoke. It always seemed like Tetsurou knew what Kei was thinking, even without seeing him. Kei was fully aware of the edge in his voice, but he elected to ignore it, as if it would make it weaker.

“ _You should probably get onto that instead of plotting murder, Kei_.”

“I know, I’m just—“ Kei ran a hand through his hair, unable to form the next words. They were held on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t get them out, no matter how much he tried. Kei traced his index finger over the indents in the table. He could hear Tetsurou’s even breathing through the speakers.

“ _Frustrated?_ ” Tetsurou’s voice was knowing, even though Kei had said nothing.

“Yeah, frustrated. That’s a word. Not the ones I was thinking but a word none-the-less.” There were many syllables going through Kei’s mind, not all of them entirely cohesive nor legal.

“ _What were you thinking?_ ”

Kei elected to say the most filtered thing he can think of, “Filled with the fiery rage from hell.”

“ _Overdramatic much?_ ”

“Is it? Is it _really?_ ”

Kei and Tetsurou chat for a while longer, conscious that Tetsurou’s break ended quite soon, and after they hang up, Kei rests his head on the table, fingers twitching. He stays there for a moment, scanning the area in front of him, and he fiddles with the silver rims of his glasses. There’s an itch at his fingers, and his eyes reach over to the cabinet furthest from the stove. His lungs burned.

Kei all but launches himself out of the seat and grabbed the box that he desired, and took out a single cigarette and a lighter. He dumped the box back where it belonged, and opened the doors to the tiny balcony. The door creaked as he pushed it as far back out as he could, and he lit the cigarette, taking a drag. The tendrils of smoke appeared around him, and Kei allowed himself to learn against the edge, letting the smoke calm him down. His fingers seemed to itch less as he took yet another drag, letting out a deep sigh. He knew he shouldn’t be smoking in the apartment, but _fuck it_ , it’s a school day, and if Katakura-san even tries to start shit with him and his health then he’s going tell her to shove it up her ass, right after she takes the giant stick out of it.

One could say Kei was a little bit tense, and Kei would sarcastically ask them where the hell they got that idea from. The thoughts of the opportunities and lost chances hidden in the email were trying to drown him, clinching at the muscles around his shoulders and through his back. He was kept up last night simply thinking about it, but when Tetsurou kissed his forehead and refused to sleep until Kei did, he found his heart racing and his mind slowly stopping its train of thought. It just had to all flood back to him in the morning, and the stress forming itself on his shoulders was becoming more of an inconvenience than anything else.

Kei spent the rest of the day dwelling on this, an email window open and remaining as blank as ever. Before Akaashi and Bokuto knocked on his door, he managed to write down the words “ _Hello Mizuki-san,”_ before being rudely interrupted. He allowed Bokuto and Akaashi the tiny chat before collapsing down beside his laptop, and his fingers tapped out a reply at a rapid speed. At some point, he slipped on his headphones and drowned out the world, editing and rewriting the response what seemed like one thousand times.

He was so immersed in his work that he didn’t even notice Tetsurou leaning over his shoulder, reading the words typed on the screen. When Kei’s song ended, and there was brief silence, his eyes flickered over to the side and he just about jumped out of his skin when he spotted Tetsurou. Kei slipped his headphones off and paused his music, turning to face Tetsurou.

“I was wondering if you’d gotten anywhere on that, but obviously you are still in the fed up stage of the writing process.” Tetsurou commented, smiling at him. Kei gave him an exhausted look, leaning his head into Tetsurou’s shoulder and letting out a small pout where Tetsurou couldn’t see him. Tetsurou kissed his temple and wrapped his arms around Kei’s body, bringing him close.

“I spent the entire day fuming, honestly. I’m surprised I didn’t lunge at Bokuto-san when he slapped my back.”

“Bo was here?” Tetsurou’s interest was piqued, but Kei shrugged.

“Akaashi gave me a message from Yachi-san not too long ago. He was there, slapped me so I had I basically choked on my own spit, complimented my glasses, and left.”

“Sounds like him,” Tetsurou grinned, “Do you want me to leave you to your email?”

Kei nodded pitifully, and Tetsurou let him go, “I’ll make you dinner, yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“Kei?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“ _I plug my earphone to my status / My true feelings lie beyond there”_ – _For You // BTS_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY FRIENDS WELCOME TO THE NEXT CHAPTER OF TETS IS A PIECE OF SHIT AND HAS A REALLY WEIRD WRITING SCHEDULE!!! i finished my two major exams and what better way to celebrate than to post this!!! woo and all that
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this chapter and hopefully, with the aid of my extra time at home and the holidays in about a week i should have the next chapter done in considerably less time than this one //sweats
> 
> this chapters songs are:  
> [save me - bts](https://www.google.com.au/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=3&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwjfkK7nr6fNAhVGG5QKHSBtDeQQtwIIJjAC&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DCfxD2D-V46E&usg=AFQjCNGzlO-j4zNpLwYESJnNff5OWV8WWA&bvm=bv.124542969,d.dGo)  
> [tomorrow - bts](https://www.google.com.au/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=3&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwjo_YfMr6fNAhXMF5QKHYlRDoUQtwIIJzAC&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DcxZf-0j1ukI&usg=AFQjCNGi6NUfegqPj9VDp345glUtpwxlvA&bvm=bv.124542969,d.dGo)  
> [love song - miss a](https://www.google.com.au/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwi7jof6r6fNAhUEJpQKHeSXDTMQyCkIHjAA&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D6z1c0yjjOE0&usg=AFQjCNEBLi9uWlJ5NNBwIf36FOf_B7-TFw&bvm=bv.124542969,d.dGo)  
> [for you - bts](https://www.google.com.au/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=video&cd=2&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwj166qIsKfNAhXDi5QKHUWLApcQtwIIITAB&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.dailymotion.com%2Fvideo%2Fx3axu60&usg=AFQjCNEMfq3qF5UM8f8inp3yhw9pEsp6yw&bvm=bv.124542969,d.dGo)
> 
> ((i wonder who my favourite band could be???))


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is what it is.”
> 
> “Isn’t that some sort of philosophy bullshit?”

> **APARTMENT 709**

Domesticity was never Iwaizumi’s thing.

He never knew that there were so many different variations of mattresses in this world, so many different variations of springs and materials and hardness to a simple, essential item. They all varied in brand, and don’t even get him started on the different types. They all had their own health benefits, proven by _Dr XYZ_ that it cures these twenty fucking spinal problems. They all had their downfalls as well – some were rock hard, uncomfortable to sleep on and move around in, others soft and Iwaizumi knew he would just fall straight through one. How was he supposed to know the difference between a hybrid, latex, and innerspring mattress? Hell, Iwaizumi didn’t even know _latex_ was a mattress material! What the hell would you even—

You know what, Iwaizumi didn’t want to know.

Mattress shopping was not Iwaizumi’s forte. He knew that this was a specialised field, one he had next to no knowledge in, and the more he walked through and tested, the more he understood that he knew neither jack nor shit. Strolling through the third store within the city with Oikawa in tow was certainly not how he expected to spend his Wednesday, but Oikawa didn’t have coaching until three that afternoon, and it was currently only eleven. Oikawa was the kind of person who just had to fit himself into these excursions, so Iwaizumi promised him a lava lamp if he behaved. He was expecting a quieter, easier experience, preferably in a single store. No such luck. To make matters worse, Oikawa was in one of his _moods_. He had so many opinions on all the different mattress in the place. _This one’s too hard_ , he whines, and Iwaizumi snickers as an old lady gives him a judgemental look on the way past.

Iwaizumi had already picked out a bedframe online, ordered it the first night he slept on the couch, neck aching and eyes squinting to see the tiny lettering on his screen. Even on the lowest brightness setting, his phone seemed to destroy any chances of him adjusting back to regular light, and caused him a horrid headache the next day. He’s not entirely sure he’s fully recovered from that traumatic experience, his back still positively aching from the awkward position he woke up in, half off and half on Oikawa’s shitty, uncomfortable couch. If Iwaizumi cricked his neck the wrong way he could feel his spine reverting to the seemingly permanent damaged look, which was obviously desirable by none. It was a horrible cracking, and Iwaizumi knew that this was his punishment for not planning ahead.

Oikawa dragged his feet against the ugly patterned carpet, lips pulled into a pout, “You’re so fussy, Iwa-chan.”

“Me?” Iwaizumi asked incredulously, “Every time I find one that seems decent you complain loudly how it’s shit. Guess who’s shit, Oikawa? It’s you.”

Oikawa looked scandalized, “I’m not fussy! Nor shit!” His voice was shrill, defensive, and they both knew that he was lying his ass off. And not well.

“Are so, Shitkawa.” Petty as it was, whenever he was around Oikawa, all he could manage were childish retorts and insults. They could be better, and Iwaizumi knows it. Hell, Oikawa knows it too. He supposes it would mean actually putting effort into calling Oikawa names, but he honestly didn’t give a shit. Too much effort for spur of the moment conversation.

Oikawa draped himself over Iwaizumi’s shoulders, who scowled at the contact, and rested his chin on his own arm. He was warm, and his woollen sweater scratched against Iwaizumi’s skin uncomfortably. He nuzzled their heads together, and Iwaizumi, despite not looking, knew he was attracting stares. It was just what Oikawa _did._ Iwaizumi shrugged him off and took strides towards a different mattress on display, and Oikawa protested like the baby he was and followed behind.

Iwaizumi knew he could only keep a calm façade up for so long when Oikawa was in one of his moods, so he took the opportunity of Oikawa lagging behind to take a few deep, calming breaths.

_I am not going to murder Oikawa, I am not going to murder Oikawa, I am_ not _going to murder Oikawa_.

“Why don’t you pick the same one as mine, Iwa-chan? It’s nice and soft, and it—“

_I’m not going to murder my best friend. I’m not going to murder Oikawa._

“—is quite a good mattress, you know. I can show you where to order it online, and—“

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi breathed out, a soft wheeze in his voice, “Go to the other side of the store and pick a lava lamp. Let me handle the fucking mattress.”

Oikawa stopped, stared, and shrugged, “Okay, Iwa-chan! I’ll be back once I pick one!” He all but skips off, whistling to the pop song playing in the store, and Iwaizumi is finally allowed a moment of peace. That idiot. He watches Oikawa go out of his field of vision and finally goes up to one of the employees and asks for her advice. This is something he couldn’t have done with Oikawa’s stubborn ass in tow.

She helped, and when Oikawa came back with a box in his arms, Iwaizumi was intently listening to her advice, asking questions as he went. Oikawa, for the most part, remained quiet and listened to her speak to Iwaizumi. For this the man in question remained grateful, shooting Oikawa an appreciative lamp once he had finally chosen one that would fit his bedframe and needs. Upon realising how that sounded, Iwaizumi cringed at his own mind, as the only need he really has is to not get a spine problem.

The worst part of the whole encounter was when they were at the counter. The nice checkout lady told them the price, and both him and Oikawa had pulled out their wallets. Iwaizumi shot Oikawa a sour look, and pushed his wallet down, and pulled out his card. She offered to split the bill evenly, to which Iwaizumi yelled out a very loud _NO_ and she almost jumped back, obviously startled. He apologises, and pays, shooting Oikawa evil looks. Oikawa, defensive and innocent as always, kept his mouth shut, though he was not happy about this one bit.

“It should be shipped by Saturday, sir. Thank you for your purchase.” She told him, and the two were off on their merry way. Not after Iwaizumi smacked Oikawa over the head and told him to quit being an idiot. The two bickered on the way home, as they always did, and once they got into the apartment, Oikawa set the lamp down and slammed his foot down as well.

“Why didn’t you split?” Oikawa demanded to know.

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow at this, “Why the hell do you think, idiot. I can afford it, it’s fine.”

“Iwa-cha—“

“Have you even paid the rent? Huh?” Iwaizumi demanded, and Oikawa shrunk back a little. “Don’t tell me to split something that I’m buying for me if you can’t pay for it, okay?”

Oikawa pouted, obviously not pleased, but at least he understood, “Fine…”

“You gonna open your lava lamp?”

“Yes.” Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow at Oikawa’s snippy tone, and he trudged towards it like a child. He examined the edges, picking at the tape on the edges. “Can you pass me the Stanley knife?”

Iwaizumi did as he was asked, and watched as Oikawa unboxed his gift. His eyes shone as he set it down on the bench, and scanned the instructions. Oikawa assembled it quickly, and Iwaizumi watched silently as he moved it over to one of the tall tables beside the couch, and plugged it in. Then, he flicked the switch on the matte silver base, and the lamp brought itself to life. It illuminated blue and purple and Iwaizumi couldn’t help but grin at Oikawa’s delighted little jump.

“Thank you, Iwa-chan!” he exclaimed. He turned and leaped forward, wrapping his arm’s around Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi stumbled back slightly at this, but allowed the tiniest grin while he wasn’t looking (most of his grins were when Oikawa wasn’t looking). Iwaizumi allowed him the moment, patting his back twice before the two let go of each other. Oikawa was smiling ear to ear, and it was almost contagious.

The idiot.

~ 

The apartment was dark, and Iwaizumi flicked the switch on the last remaining lamp in the living area. The darkness was familiar, welcome. Iwaizumi settles back down on the couch that night, Oikawa’s new lamp now turned off. His eyes droop, the thought of a new mattress to rest his head on delighting him greatly. He drifted off into sleep fairly quickly, despite his uncomfortable position.

However, when he was brought back to life at midnight, there was a horrible thought plaguing his mind.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Iwaizumi bolted upright, not caring about the crick in his neck or the numbness in his legs. He didn’t care about the lack of light and the rushing in his head from doing so. He didn’t care about the pillow that was knocked onto the ground. Curse his stupid mind. Curse his stupid, _stupid_ mind for coming up with some ridiculous dream like that. Curse it, curse it, curse it! Iwaizumi couldn’t believe his own fucking subconscious, his own mind. He couldn’t fucking believe the rattling in his heart, beating up against his chest.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

It was like some kind of bad dream to Iwaizumi. It was something that seemed so forbidden, locked away behind an iron door. It was forbidden to him and _only_ him, for if it were anyone else he wouldn’t care as much. If it were anyone else it wouldn’t feel so fucking _right_. Idiot. He’s such a fucking idiot.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

He can’t like his best friend.

He fucking can’t like Oikawa.

_“When it comes to love // I have no control over me” – I Like U Too Much - SONAMOO_

> **APARTMENT 610**

Tetsurou will never, not once, be ashamed of belting out the lyrics to his favourite 2000’s ballad, _Sk8er Boi_ by a true musical legend, Avril Lavigne. The lyrics, the tune, the pure iconic nature of the song really add to the beauty of it. He particularly enjoyed Kei, with extremely good cause, fucking hates him for it.

_“He was a boy, she was a girl, could I make it any more obvious?”_

Jesus Christ.

Well, Kei would hate it marginally less if it wasn’t sung (sung was a rather _kind_ way of putting it, Kei would rather the use of the word _screech_ or even _shriek_ as an accurate descriptor) for hours on end. It was the single most off-key rendition of a terrible song of their era, and to add to the literal desecration of his good sense and lack of will to stay in the apartment, Tetsurou had taken to dancing along to it, broom in hand.

Maybe Kei should do the sweeping. And control the stereo. Forever.

_“He was a skater boy, she said ‘see you later, boy’!”_

“Can you _shut_ the _fuck up!_ ” Kei yelled out, and Tetsurou’s singing did nothing but increase in volume, and somehow decrease in quality. Kei’s eyes narrowed, peering through the lenses of his glasses with extreme annoyance. “Why do you have to be like this?”

Tetsurou continued dancing without a care in the world, fully immersed in his rough and unrehearsed movements. He swept into one pile by the edge of the bench, and Kei had to hand it to him, finding a way to do so while attempting high-risk, damaging dance moves was quite impressive. Or, it would be, if he could actually pull them off. Kei was quite sure he was going to end up receiving a complaint from one of the neighbours because of this monstrosity, but it honestly doesn’t surprise him.

Then the idea struck.

Kei tossed his cleaning rag on the table, and snuck into the bedroom. He caught sight of his camera bag, and pulled it out, discarding the lens protector inside. He pulled the strap over his head and turned the camera on. He snuck back out, sure that Tetsurou wouldn’t see nor hear him (not that he would, far too immersed in his horrific performance). He hid behind the couch, camera planted on the back, ready.

Kei put his eye to the preview, watching his shot before taking a few snaps of the scenery. Tetsurou still hadn’t notice because of his garish singing. Kei smirks, and angles his camera differently, aiming for a better shot. He found the perfect one, that made it seem like Tetsurou had three chins, and took a few more shots, giggling quietly.

Tetsurou had finally noticed after one fairly spectacular failure of a turn, and the look on his face was priceless, even through the tiny preview. He stomped over to Kei, abandoning the broom with a clanging sound, and Kei found himself standing up and holding his camera above his head, giggles still escaping his lips.

“Lemme see,” Tetsurou said, half-pouting, half-frowning. Kei grinned and shook his head, giggles turning into laughs as Tetsurou huffs and leans up to grab the camera. Kei jogs away from him, around the couch, and Tetsurou raises an eyebrow. “If that’s how it is, then.”

“It is what it is.”

“Isn’t that some sort of philosophy bullshit?”

Kei snorted, “Nah, business way of saying ‘fuck it’. You should know that.”

“I work in law, I don’t deal with ‘fuck it’s, unfortunately. Just ‘I don’t fucking know either, just take it’.”

“Isn’t that ‘it is what it is’, anyway?”

“Nope, it’s usually covered in a layer of persuasive bullshit and emotive hoo-ha. Anything to get the facts somewhat right and the emotions on the table. Reasonable doubt and all that.”

“Even if it ain’t the truth?”

“ _Especially_ if it ain’t the truth.” Tetsurou responded, “Wait! Gimme the camera.” Tetsurou seemed to get his mind back on track, and Kei cursed mentally.

The two chased each other around like children, yelling insults at each other as they did, until they heard a knock at the door. They stopped, alarmed, like their parents or someone alike had caught them, and Tetsurou quickly straightened himself up and went to the door.

He opened to door, and nearly had a heart attack at the sight of a uniform. Surely he hadn’t been _that_ loud? His eyes trailed up to see one of the people who lived under him, Matsukawa. Tetsurou leaned against the door and pretended he didn’t know anything, “Hello Officer.”

Matsukawa, obviously sensing Tetsurou’s thoughts, gave him a lazy smile. “I’m not technically on duty, but hey Kuroo.”

Tetsurou relaxed slightly, giving Matsukawa his usual grin, “Oh, cool. How’s things, man?”

“Alright, work’s work and all that. You?” Tetsurou knew that Officer’s hours were really odd, but working on a Saturday was just plain rough.

“Pretty good. A certain someone likes taking candid shots of me doing embarrassing shit—“ Tetsurou was in the middle of explaining, but what happened next put Tetsurou into mild cardiac arrest.

The two were interrupted by a new voice, “You shouldn’t be using that kind of language, Kuroo-kun.”

Tetsurou and Matsukawa cringed in unison. Katakura was a short, middle-aged lady with her hair tied up in what seemed to be a permanent, steely bun. She had a permanent scowl, and whenever he gaze was fixed on one of the younger men in the building she had a glare that could cut through glass. Her voice was almost always condescending and judgemental, but that may be because she always caught Tetsurou out in his worst moments. She crossed her arms, and looked expectantly at Tetsurou.

“If this is about my lovely singing, I assure you that it’s stopped, Katakura-san.” Tetsurou tells her this like a child attempting to convince their mother they are on their best behaviour. His smile was bright and he could almost hear Kei’s snort in the background – the little bastard. She narrowed her eyes at him, and Tetsurou knew that that wasn’t going to cut it in the slightest.

“You shouldn’t swear in an apartment block with children in it.”

“No offence, but the only child on this floor is Tsukki, and he’s twenty-three. You can’t stop me, freedom of speech and all.” Oh no. Curse him and his big fucking mouth. He just dug his own grave, this would be the end for Kuroo Tetsurou.

Here it comes, “But—“

Matsukawa, the man Tetsurou now dubbed his personal lord and saviour, stepped in, “He wasn’t harassing anyone, it’s fine. If you really want an apology that’s okay, but seriously. It’s fine.”

He steely gaze turned to Matsukawa, who didn’t shrink at it. Tetsurou thanked his lucky stars that she accepted him due to his uniform. She stormed off with a huff, and once she had turned up the stairs, he let out a sigh of relief. Tetsurou was fully ready to get in on his knees and bow to him. Matsukawa just nodded to him, and Tetsurou gave an appreciative smile.

“We’re on private property anyway.” Tetsurou shook his head, “You wanna come in, or did you come here to tell me to shut up as well?”

“Well, I _did_ come here to tell you to shut up, but…” Matsukawa sighed, considering it for a moment, “Nah, I should probably get back. I have a big night planned and I should get started on that.”

“Big night, huh?” Tetsurou asked, instantly curious, “What kind of big night?” He winked.

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out. Later, Kuroo.”

“See you, Matsukawa. Have a good night.”

“Oh, I will!” and with a wave, Matsukawa was gone, and Tetsurou shut the door. Kei poked his head around the corner, lips pressed together to stop any laughter. Tetsurou flipped him off.

“We’re having an early night, tonight. Matsukawa has something planned, and you know what happened last time.”

Kei nods solemnly, “Yeah, yeah, you gossipy bitch. What’s Katakura’s deal, though?”

“Right?” Tetsurou exclaimed, raising his hands in the air, “Let me live, and don’t debate my language. I’m just glad she didn’t have her brat kid with her, I’d’ve been flung off the balcony if she did.”

“And I would have taken pictures of it.” Kei teases.

“I don’t doubt that, sweetheart.” Tetsurou nods, “Now show me the fucking pictures, you dick.”

Kei grins, “Why should I?”

“Because I just had a traumatic experience because of them, and I think I should get some compensation.” Tetsurou was playing up the ordeal, as if it was some sort of big confrontation (and to be fair, without Matsukawa it probably would have become one). Kei wasn’t buying any of his shit.

“Not my fault.”

Tetsurou changed tactics, “Can I _please_ see the pictures, my lovely, dickhead boyfriend?”

Kei pouts before smiling at him, “I was almost going to say yes, but you ruined it. Bye, Kuroo.”

“Tsukki!” Tetsurou whines, and Kei walked off into the hallway, fiddling with his camera as he did. He giggled, and as he turned into the bedroom, he gave Tetsurou a sly look. “You’re a little shit, you know that?”

“I do!” Kei exclaims, and turns his attention to the camera around his neck. He could hear Tetsurou complaining through the door after he shut it. Kei took the SD card out and uploaded the files onto his computer, just to spite his boyfriend. He then shut his camera down, and inserted the card back into the slot. He put it back in it’s case, and then back into it’s rightful place in his equipment drawer. He closed that, hand lingering on the wooden handle for a second longer than necessary. His hands dropped to his sides.

While his computer lid remained upwards, he received the generic _Apple_ email notification. Kei turned his head, and he strode over and clicked on the notification. His screen lit up in various colours, looking far too minimalist and promo-like for any sort of work email.

But then he saw it.

**From:** _HaiMag_

**Subject:** _Proposal; Fixed_

Kei’s heart nearly stopped when he read these words, and all of his previous pent up angst about the topic seemed to be for naught. He scanned through the bright, flashy images and went straight for the attachments, clicking download on all of them. His fingers were shaking as he read through them, taking in all of the details far too quickly. There was so much to take in, so much to consider. Kei took a few steps back from his laptop, breathing deeply as he did. The email was still bright on his screen so he rushed forwards and snapped it closed, not caring about the sound that he made when he did. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down.

“Well I’ll be fucked,” Kei whispered, “She wasn’t pulling my leg.”

Kei knew the chances of getting a deal like this, he knew the odds of getting something this huge so early on in his career. He knew that not just _anybody_ would get offered this kind of deal, especially from a well regarded magazine company. They wanted _him._ They had _chosen_ him out of all the other possible photographers in the country, all the other great talents.

There was a knock on the door, “You alright in there”

Kei took a breath, “Yeah, just looking at your photos.”

“Why you little—“

_“He was a boy // she was a girl” – Sk8er Boi – Avril Lavigne_

> **APARTMENT 510**

One would think, _oh, I have Saturday’s completely free, going to see a movie with my significant other/s would be a good thing!_ Okay, maybe not like that. You’d more likely hear people say that about their porn collection under the bed rather than a movie theatre, and even then. The thought is still there, and Hanamaki, for one, has never had this god damn experience. For one, it requires all parties to be present. For all parties to be completely free and set on the plans, nothing else prohibiting them from going ahead. Step two—

Who’s Hanamaki kidding, there is nothing after this, that’s where he stops.

As depressing as it is, Hanamaki lives this struggle weekly. No dates, hardly any quality time together, and odd working hours all paired together leaves an unsavoury tinge in a person’s mouth. And heart. He spent most of his time alone at a desk, even on weekends when he was supposed to be resting, enjoying himself. He supposes he should be grateful – he has a lovely significant other who, might he say, is an excellent fuck. They just… don’t spend as much time together as either of them would like. With Hanamaki’s tendency to spend a ridiculous amount of time perfecting his projects and tasks, fine-tuning even the tiniest of details, and Matsukawa’s unusual and frankly exhausting hours, it’s hard to find the time together.

Which is exactly why Hanamaki is stuck watching _Deadpool_ alone with a bunch of teenagers and their friends chatting loudly during the ads. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see the film – quite the contrary, he was looking forward to the sheer hilarity and uncensored brilliance of it, but he was watching it alone. He definitely planned on it being a nice date, the two of them going out of the theatre joking loudly about it and gaining odd looks from passers-by.

It was fucking shit, sitting alone with his frozen coke and large, salted popcorn barrel. He knew that there were at least two other couples in the stands, and about five groups of obnoxious teenagers waiting to see the film with him. He took a sip from his coke, and placed it back in the cup holder with a little more force than necessary. The movie trailers had started, meaning it wouldn’t be long until he can focus fully on the screen and not the lonely seat beside him.

The screen dimmed, and Hanamaki leaned back and waited for the ride of his life.

~ 

**[ i walk this lonely road ]** WHAM!

**[ i walk this lonely road ]** 10/10 would recommend deadpool just so you all know

**[ i walk this lonely road ]** also i s2g oikawa im gonna punch you if you keep spamming my phone with candid shots of iwaizumi

**[ i walk this lonely road ]** sayonara for now i saw a pet store and i must look at the dogs

~

Matsukawa checked his phone the second he connected to the router, and upon seeing his boyfriend’s messages in the group chat his lips immediately tipped upwards. He made a small comment about collars, to which Oikawa sent a video of him softly screaming and Iwaizumi hitting him over the head for it. Fucking worth it.

Matsukawa tried not to let bitterness overcome him as he unlocked the door, and slipped out of his boots. Hanamaki had obviously enjoyed the film, and he had offered to go with Matsukawa to see it, but unfortunately, work interfered with that plan. As usual. Matsukawa tried his damnest not to let work be an excuse to have no life, but with his hours it was hard not to. He hardly had the chance to do anything in terms of entertainment, and when he did, Hanamaki was working, or they had both passed out.

Matsukawa dumped the contents of his pockets on the bench, but his ears prick to a sound. Well, not just any sound, the sound of two people yelling. Upon further listening, he discovered that it was coming from upstairs, and was more like bickering than yelling. Still, it was rather annoying. He took his phone and keys and headed up there to deal with the two.

After the whole ordeal with Kuroo and Katakura, he was finally able to get his things ready. Matsukawa took a quick shower, cleaning the sweat and dirt off of his skin, and allowing a quick spray of water to dampen his curly hair. He dried his skin, and halfway dried his hair, preferring it to air dry. Matsukawa slipped on a clean set of comfortable, oversized clothes and stepped out of the bathroom. He went back into the kitchen, and started work on his plan.

~

Hanamaki arrived home far later than he had anticipated, the sun dipping under the horizon. The sky was painted warmly, oranges and yellows decorating the sky. It was still too early in the afternoon for it to be dark yet. Hanamaki unlocked the door with great difficulty, spending more time in the shopping centre than he probably should have.

What can he say? Technology stores make him weak in the knees, and lord knows that he has a little bit of a problem with the lengths of cords and such. Overall, the purchases he made would only aid in him, and hopefully the completion of his project. Hanamaki shut the door with his knee, and shook of his shoes, minding the bags on his arms. He tip-toed in, unsure if Matsukawa would be napping at this point. He turned to place his bags in the office, out of the way, when he realised he was far too parched.

He turned into the kitchen, but a pair of hands landed over his eyes. Hanamaki couldn’t help but let his lips twitch into a small smile. The person pecked his cheek, and then turned his head to whisper in his ear, “Come with me, yeah?”

Hanamaki nodded the best he could, and allowed Matsukawa to lead him wherever he wanted. The backs of Hanamaki’s legs banged into a chair, and Hanamaki took that as his cue to sit down. Matsukawa’s hands followed him down, and Hanamaki was starting to become awfully suspicious, “What’s going on?”

“If I take my hands away, do you promise to keep your eyes shut for two more seconds?”

Hanamaki nods, and does so obediently. He can hear Matsukawa run off, and then come back with far more steady hands. He sets something in front of Hanamaki, and seems to run off and come back once more. “Alright, open your eyes.”

“ _Open your eyes,_ ” Hanamaki repeated, imitating a song that had been stuck in his head for a few days now. Matsukawa laughed a little, and Hanamaki did as he was instructed, mouth falling open in the process.

On the table in front of him were two plates full of spaghetti, drowned in sauce, just as Hanamaki liked them. Meatballs were amongst the noodles and sauce, and Hanamaki’s mouth watered at the sight. In between them, a small, transparent vase with a single red rose in the middle. Hanamaki allowed a small smile, “And they say romance is dead.”

“Are you insulting me?”

Hanamaki grinned cheekily, “I can decide that after we eat.”

“Eat?” Matsukawa grinned, and Hanamaki’s eyes twinkled in delight.

“Well this meal just got infinitely better. Almost makes up for watching _Deadpool_ alone.”

“Look—“

“You’re sorry you couldn’t make it, I know. It’s fine,” Hanamaki finished for him, a grin on his face, “It was really funny though, I wish you could have seen it.”

Matsukawa felt a pit of guilt in his stomach, and he tried to not let it show on his face.

“I’ll try and go see it when I get a chance so we can talk about it, yeah?”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Hanamaki snorted, and nodded carefully, “Wham!”

_“(I wanna) hold you tight // make you mine // Never leave me alone” – Good Luck – BEAST_

> **APARTMENT 609**

It was a normal Sunday morning for Akaashi and Bokuto. The two woke up mid-morning, still far too early for either of their likings, but any later would be too late for breakfast. They sat at the table together, eating their food and yawning sleepily to break the silence. There is nothing unusual about the event, until Akaashi broke out the wine bottle.

There was nothing particularly odd about the event, really. He had reached into the cabinet and pulled the bottle down without a care in the world. He shut the door carefully, hinges creaking as they always did, and held the glass bottle carefully with two hands. He turned, and he was met with Bokuto gnawing at his lip. This fact shocked Akaashi, ever so slightly.

Bokuto doesn’t drink.

Akaashi knew the reason he didn’t quite clearly. Having an alcoholic for a father would change your perspective on the topic immensely. Bokuto had seen what happens to those under the influence first hand, and in turn he refuses to, and the fact makes Akaashi a little on edge. Well, not on edge… jealous. Akaashi was a bit jealous and he could admit it because he was a mature adult. Not having to take in the poisonous drink to be able to function most weeks was a blessing, and Akaashi honest to God envied Bokuto. The only thing is – he’ll be fucked if he admits it.

Drinking was a bit of a sensitive topic for the man. He would vehemently deny being a tiny bit addicted to it, vehemently deny getting through the week just so he can have those few glasses. He wouldn’t go as far as to call himself an alcoholic, definitely not needing it to survive nor function, he just… looks forward to it more than he would admit. He was not dependent on it, that was for sure.

Akaashi moved to pour himself a glass, and he did so in the same nonchalant way as usual. He rested the wine bottle on the table, and took a few sips of his drink. Akaashi wondered if Bokuto saw it the same way. He knew that if he would ask, Bokuto would deny it, but the topic was also sensitive for Bokuto. He wondered if Bokuto watched Akaashi with his drinks and cringed, drifted away instinctively. Akaashi wondered if Bokuto wanted him to stop.

Akaashi didn’t allow these thoughts to mull over in his head for too long, though, as he downed his first glass for the day. Wine and _Fruit Loops_ were really not the best combination, but they had run out of any other cereal in the house. Akaashi had his legs crossed on the chair, not minding proper manners, and lifted the bowl up to take a few more spoonfuls. He slurped on the milk in the bowl and it made a rather unflattering noise that Akaashi screwed his nose up at. Bokuto sat across from him, crunching loudly on his _Cocoa Pops_ , which he ate without milk. _A heathen_ , Akaashi expressed, and the two have gotten into numerous petty arguments over the perks of having cereal with and without milk (neither of them have convinced the other, so it is in a permanent stalemate).

Akaashi reached for the bottle resting on the table, but Bokuto had beat him to it. His fingers wrapped around the neck and he simply held it for a moment. Akaashi stared at his fingers, and then to his face. He retracted his hand, and cocked his head to the sight, “Koutarou?”

“Hm?”

“Is something wrong?” Akaashi tip-toes around the issue, waiting for Bokuto to move the conversation along. Akaashi tapped on his leg impatiently.

There was silence between them, and Akaashi didn’t know what to say next. Then finally, Bokuto let go. “Sorry,” he had whispered, and Akaashi’s eyes flew over to his face.

“Sorry?”

“Mhm…”

Akaashi paused for a moment, allowing this to sink in. This was a bad day, he could tell just from Bokuto’s lack of enthusiasm and short responses. Akaashi bobbed his legs up and down and considered his next move. There were many things he could do for Bokuto, but the further he looked, the more he saw distance was key in this situation. Bokuto was a tricky person when he was in a down mood, his responses to various things becoming quite unpredictable.

“Do you want me to put the wine away?” he asked gently, biting back any desire for more. He didn’t get a response either way from Bokuto, so he took it and slid out of his chair. Bokuto seemed to be a little more at ease just from it being out of his sight, and Akaashi put it back in it’s place. He did not have to worry about draining his glass, so he took that and placed it in the sink, out of view waiting to be washed up. He ran some water in it, and left it. Akaashi turned back to Bokuto, and without taking more than two steps Bokuto spoke.

“My… mother called. This morning.” Bokuto said, and Akaashi cocked his head to the side. His mother? Akaashi was fully under the impression that, despite the pun, Bokuto-san was quite the night owl. That was unusual, and Akaashi could feel a pit of dread forming in his stomach.

“She did? When?”

“You were still sleeping. It was really early, like six,” Bokuto stopped himself, and then took a breath and continued, “It was when he got home. She wanted me on the phone so she had an excuse to be outside, and not with him.”

“Oh.”

Akaashi didn’t need any further explanation, but Bokuto continued anyway, “He’s been bad lately. Mum’s been wanting to take him to a doctor, but…”

“But it’s hard?” Akaashi supplied, and Bokuto nodded.

“She thinks… he’d go to rehab. And she needs help around the house. So it’s hard.”

“That… really sucks. A lot.”

_So much for being good at words_ , Akaashi thought.

Bokuto hummed, “Yeah, it does.”

“Kou, if you want…” Akaashi stopped, and then he observed Bokuto’s figure. He was sort of slumped, as if he was drooping. His hair was down and messy, making it seem like his usual joy and exuberance was not there – and it wasn’t. He took in his face, lips red and skin peeled away from excessive biting. His eyes were drooped, dropped low and trained on the table.

“If it would make you feel better, I’ll stop drinking for a while.” Akaashi said the words, and Bokuto’s head snapped up, his eyes wide.

“You don’t have to,” Bokuto said immediately, “You just have in occasionally, and it’s only wine.”

“Koutarou. Does me drinking wine around you make you uncomfortable?”

Bokuto hesitated in his answer, “No—“

“Koutarou.” Akaashi’s voice was steely, as though he was scolding a child at work, “Does it?”

Bokuto sighed, “Not normally. I’m just a bit worked up at the moment.”

“Then I’ll stop until you say, okay?”

“You don’t get drunk or anything, so it’s fine.”

“I’m gonna stop.” Akaashi’s voice was final, “At the moment.”

Bokuto stared at him, and then gave him a small grin, “Thanks, Keiji.”

“Of course.”

_“Give me therapy // I’m a walking travesty // But I’m smiling at everything” – Therapy – All Time Low_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well well well what do we have here??  
> tets updating in less than 20 years? unreal
> 
> but yes hello update!!!! this would have taken less time if i hadn't gotten sick and had a bts crisis lmaooo. i have no idea when the next chapter will be up because i have 2 bday presents and a competition entry to do ahahha kill me. also school is back so that cuts into time dramatically //weeps. hopefully it'll be soon but who knows. i usually post updates on my [tumblr](http://hideeyoshi.tumblr.com/) so you can always find me crying over stuff there.
> 
> songs;  
> [i like u too much](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9YmVUjBB6Hc) \- sonamoo  
> [sk8er boi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TIy3n2b7V9k) \- avril lavigne  
> [good luck](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hs8QGv2VqJA) \- beast  
> [therapy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lTNmec6sOPc) \- all time low
> 
> im sorry for being emo kpop trash. i hope u enjoyed the update!!!

**Author's Note:**

> title is from [house of cards](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cX4c5-Phe7Q) by bts!!! (link to be updated when the full version is released mmm)
> 
> thank you for reading!!


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